Gallows Eve
by DRL
Summary: Zechs Merquise has been murdered and Duo stands accused.  But is he guilty?
1. Chapter 1

Gallows Eve (Part 1)

By DRL

Heero Yuy took his seat in the public gallery and looked over at the figure in the dock. The prisoner looked pale, but completely in command of himself. Even from this distance Heero could see that his violet eyes shone with confidence and his firm jaw was set rigid with defiance, in spite of the overwhelming strength of the evidence against him. He held himself upright, and directly held the gaze of anyone in the courtroom courageous enough to catch his eye.

'Bravo Duo,' He thought to himself, 'Just keep that chin up, and I'll have you out of this in no time'.

"Members of the jury," The judge began, gazing benignly upon them from the elevation of the bench, "You have all listened most patiently to the evidence in this most distressing and sordid case." As he uttered the last few words he shot a contemptuous sidelong glance in the direction of the dock. "The prisoner stands accused of the wilful and deliberate murder of Zechs Merquise, on the 23rd April last, and it is my duty to sum up the evidence that has been submitted by both the prosecution and by the defence, prior to your being dismissed to consider your verdict.

We have heard how the deceased, a fiction writer, became infatuated with the accused when they met at a literary function two years ago. The accused, also a novelist, has told you himself, with great candour, how he became deeply attached to Zechs Merquise, a known adventurer, and how after an acquaintance of around nine months, consented to live with him on terms of intimacy, outside the bonds of marriage. Now, members of the jury, it is for you to decide whether this was the act of a respectable man in love, or a vulgar display of misbehaviour from a morally bankrupt profligate." Once again the judge's eyes swivelled toward the prisoner. "Mr Chang Wufei, counsel for the defence, has used all of his considerable skill and eloquence on behalf of his client, and has sought to acquaint you with the 'bohemian' lifestyle of the artistic and literary circle that the accused and the deceased moved within. You will not, I'm sure, allow this to excuse behaviour that can only be described as 'amoral'.

You have heard how the couple appeared to live together in this fashion, on terms of the greatest mutual affection for around one year, until the night of 7th April last, when there was a quarrel, after which the couple separated. One of the most curious features of this case is the reason given for the quarrel. Once again, the prisoner himself has given us a frank enough explanation, but we only have his unsupported word for this, given under cross examination by prosecuting counsel…

_PC.Mr Maxwell, we have heard evidence from your neighbours that a violent quarrel was heard between you and Mr Merquise on the night of April 7__th__. Do you deny this?_

_DM.No._

_PC.Can you tell please tell the court what the quarrel was about?_

_DM.Yes. He suggested something to me that I found patronising and insulting._

_PC.And what was that?_

_DM.He proposed to me._

_PC.You find a proposal of marriage patronising and insulting?_

_DM.Under these circumstances I did, yes. You see, I never wanted to live with Zechs outside marriage. It went against every religious principle I had been brought up on. When he originally suggested that we move in together, I naturally assumed that we would marry first, but Zechs assured me that he was absolutely opposed to any form of formal, solemnised marriage, and he insisted that if I loved him I would live with him without marriage, and I would not force him to do something that he did not believe in. Eventually I acquiesced, if not entirely against my will, then against my better judgement. When he later proposed marriage to me I realised that I had been made a fool of. He just wanted to see whether I was as slavishly devoted to him as his vanity required, whether I would give up my principles and my reputation for him, and when he saw that I would, he condescended to agree to marry me. I felt utterly humiliated._

_PC.Was that the only reason for the quarrel?_

_DM. now Mr Maxwell, surely there must have been more to it than that? Perhaps you suspected that he had another lover, or he had been unkind to you in some other way?_

_DM.No, that was all._

_PC.Just as you say. So what happened after the quarrel?_

_DM.He stormed out of the flat that evening and I spent the night alone. The next day I changed the locks, packed his bags and left them at the door for him. He must have gone to Relena's, because he ended up living with her._

_PC.Did you ever see Mr Merquise again?_

_DM.Yes I did, at the houses of friends._

_PC.Did you speak to him?_

_DM.I was civil, nothing more._

_PC.You still harboured animosity towards him?_

_DM.I was still very angry with him._

_PC.Angry enough to kill him?_

_DM.No! Never angry enough for that._

"…That, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is for you to decide, whether Zechs Merquise's proposal of marriage could be construed as a motive for murder. Let us now turn to the murder itself. We have heard evidence that a young man, subsequently identified as the prisoner Duo Maxwell, purchased a gun using false identification papers. You will recall the prisoner's evidence concerning this transaction during defence counsel, Mr Chang, Wufei's examination in chief…

_DC.Mr Maxwell, what is your profession._

_DM.I am a writer, I write detective novels._

_DC.On the 17__th__ April, did you in fact purchase a revolver using a false name, and giving falsified papers by way of identification, as stated by witnesses?_

_DM.Yes, I did._

_DC.Can you tell the court why you did this?_

_DM.Because at the time I was working on a novel in which there was a character that did exactly the same thing. I had to convince myself that it __was__ actually possible. I write fiction novels, but even fiction has to have some credibility._

_DC.Mr Maxwell, when did you have the idea for this novel?_

_DM. Last December some time, I don't remember exactly when. I discussed it with my literary agents, so they may have a record of the date._

_DC. Last December? So you were discussing plans for a novel involving the surreptitious purchase of a weapon some three months __before__ your quarrel with Zechs Merquise?_

_DM.Yes._

_DC.My Lord, I will later be calling witnesses to corroborate Mr Maxwells evidence regarding this point… _

"…This then, members of the jury, is Mr Maxwell's explanation of his most extraordinary behaviour, and you must consider it for what it is worth. Now you have heard how Mr Merquise, having been most unceremoniously turned out of his home, went to live with his unmarried sister, Miss Relena Peacecraft. You have heard from Miss Peacecraft how her brother still maintained his affection for the prisoner and continued to fret about him and their break-up. She told you how Mr Merquise sent a communication to the prisoner, asking for a meeting with the purpose of affecting a reconciliation, and how the prisoner replied with a tersely-worded message, stating that Mr Merquise could call round at the flat at 9.00pm on the evening of the 23rd April, but that it would not make any difference because he had no intention of changing his mind or of agreeing to any reconciliation with the deceased.

We come now to the date of the actual murder. You have heard from witnesses how once again, sounds of a violent quarrel were heard coming from the prisoner's flat on the night of the murder, and he has himself admitted the interview between himself and the deceased did not go well. The prisoner has testified that the deceased arrived promptly at 9.00pm on the evening in question. They spoke for around a half an hour, after which time the conversation degenerated into a quarrel and he asked Mr Merquise to leave the flat, which he consented to do. Now members of the jury, I beg you to pay close attention to the following facts. Mr Maxwell states that he himself opened the front door for Mr Merquise, Mr Merquise left the flat, and Mr Maxwell closed the door behind him. He states that it was no more than 3-4 seconds later that he heard two gunshots. He immediately reopened the door, to find Mr Merquise lying in the hallway, a few feet from the door, with a gun lying a short distance from the body. You have heard from Mr Maxwell that he approached the body and knelt beside it, noticed the revolver and then ran back into the flat to call the police. You have also heard evidence from Mr Joe Knight, the tenant of the flat below Mr Maxwell's, and I would like to recall Mr Knight's evidence to you in detail…

_PC.Mr Knight, you reside at the same address as Mr Maxwell, the accused?_

_JK.Yes sir, I live in the flat directly below theirs, I mean his sir, since the other gentleman went away, him that's now dead._

_PC.Quite so. Now, on the night of 23__rd__ April, did you hear sounds of a quarrel coming from Mr Maxwell's flat?_

_JK.Yes sir. _

_PC.At what time would you say this was?_

_JK.It was probably around half past nine sir, thereabouts anyway. You see, I was watching a film on the telly that began at nine o'clock. I wasn't watching it above a half an hour before I heard them sir._

_PC.You say you heard them? What exactly did you hear?_

_JK.I heard them arguing sir. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I heard their voices, you know, angry like, definitely arguing, just like the first time._

_PC.The first time?_

_JK.Yes sir, just before the blond gentleman left._

_PC.I see. Tell us what happened after you heard the voices._

_JK.Well as I say sir, I heard them arguing, not for very long, then I heard them stop suddenly._

_PC.Tell me Mr Knight, can you hear voices from the flat above always, or only when they are raised?_

_JK.Only when they are raised sir. That's why I was so surprised when I heard them the first time sir. I had never heard the two gentlemen arguing before. I've had couples living up there, arguing one minute, making up the next, then arguing all over again, but the two gentlemen were not like that at all sir. I remember thinking how well they got along, except for that one time, then the blond gentleman left sir._

_PC. I interrupted you Mr Knight. Please continue telling us what happened after you heard the raised voices._

_JKWell I heard them stop suddenly, then not above a few seconds later, I heard two big bangs. Well those bangs sounded like gun shots to me sir, so I ran up the stairs, just in case someone was hurt, well you never know these days do you?_

_PC.What did you see when you reached the landing above?_

_JK.I saw someone lying on the floor, and I saw Mr Maxwell running away sir._

_PC.When you say running away, what exactly do you mean?_

_JK.Well he was running away from the body lying on the floor, back into his flat sir._

_PC.Did you see him touch the body, or kneeling beside it at all?_

_JK.No sir, all I saw was his back._

_PC.Are you sure it was have been anyone else with that hair sir._

_PC.Thank-you Mr Knight…_

"… So, members of the jury, you have heard all of the evidence in this case. This man is charged with having murdered his former lover by shooting him. Mr Merquise was indeed shot, and his injuries were consistent with his having left the flat, been called back and upon turning, receiving two gunshot wounds to the upper torso. It is for you to decide whether these wounds were inflicted by Mr Maxwell in a fit of rage against the deceased, by some other person or persons as yet unknown, or, as the defence have suggested but have produced no evidence to support the suggestion, by Mr Merquise's own hand. The defence have protested that the accused had no motive for murdering Mr Merquise, but it is for you to decide whether Mr Maxwell's resentment at having been humiliated by Mr Merquise could constitute sufficient grounds for murder. Indeed, many murders are committed with the flimsiest of motives, if indeed any motive can be considered sufficient for murder. It is my duty to remind you that if you decide that it could indeed so constitute, and that Mr Maxwell did indeed shoot his lover for so insubstantial a reason, then it is your duty to find him guilty. The prisoner had the means, in fact the murder was committed with the prisoner's own gun, purchased under extremely dubious conditions, he had the motive, as we have already discussed, and he had the opportunity to commit the crime. If however, you find that there is any reason to doubt that Mr Maxwell shot Mr Merquise, with the express intention of killing him, then it is your duty to give him the benefit of that doubt, and return a verdict of not guilty. You may now retire to consider your verdict."

(To be continued)

6


	2. Chapter 2

Gallows Eve (Part 2)

By DRL

Heero Yuy watched the jury as they filed out of the jury box and were escorted out of the court. The prisoner was then taken back to the cells beneath the rambling old building, which was itself once a notorious prison. The two prison officers, one preceding, one following, seemed an unnecessary and excessive show of force, so slight was the form of the prisoner between them. He watched the retreating back, focussing on the contrast between the dark fabric of the sombre black suit the prisoner wore and the thick, chestnut-coloured plait of hair that lay against it. Abruptly, as one of the prison officers stepped into his line of vision, blocking his view, Heero rose and hurriedly left the court.

He took a corner table at restaurant some distance from the court, so as not to encounter anyone who had anything to do with the proceedings, and ordered a meal he had no appetite for. While he waited for his order, sipping from a glass of Perrier, he watched as tall, willowy young man with a strikingly handsome face and cinnamon coloured hair which was neatly coifed, except for a stray forelock which fell across one eye entered the restaurant. He looked elegant and dapper in a dark navy jacket, charcoal grey pants and open-necked white shirt. He took a brief moment to scan the restaurant with intelligent, emerald green eyes, then he wove his way gracefully between the tables towards Heero.

"How long do you think they'll be out?" He asked gently and without preamble, as he took a seat opposite Heero. His voice was soft and mellow, but with an underlying keenness that spoke of a strength of will that belied the serenity of his manner.

"They'll be some time, if Quatre does his job correctly." Heero replied tersely.

"Oh he will," The newcomer said, and his eyes softened as a gentle smile played about his lips, "You can rely on him."

"Good, now I need your mind above your waistline Trowa. Is everything arranged for tomorrow?"

"Well not exactly, but it will be." The man named Trowa replied. "Wufei can't arrange anything definite until the verdict is in of course, but with the prosecution case so strong, he can't press the issue without giving the game away. Everyone seems to think that it's an open and shut case, so as far as they're all concerned, tomorrow will be the first of the fourteen days prior to the execution.

"Yes," Heero said grimly. "It certainly looks that way. If Quatre fails, Duo Maxwell will hang for sure. At this moment, he is all that stands between the prisoner and the gallows."

"He won't fail." Trowa said softly.

Heero's blue eyes fixed Trowa with a hard, flinty gaze, his scepticism readily discernable in a mockingly raised eyebrow. Trowa's own expression hardened and his green eyes locked with Heero's, staring him down unblinkingly with a look that was pure steel. The tension between the two men was palpable, but was abruptly broken by the shrill voice of the waitress.

"Can I get you anything sir?" She asked, smiling enthusiastically at Trowa.

"No thank-you." Trowa replied without breaking eye contact with Heero.

"Yes, bring him the same as I'm having." Heero interposed quickly, and as the waitress scribbled on her pad and hurried away he added, "You might as well. We have quite some to kill, because as you say, Quatre won't fail." Trowa bowed his head slightly, acknowledging Heero's concession, but said nothing. "You'll have to forgive me Trowa," Heero continued, "Quatre may be your lover, but he's also the best operative you have. I'm apt to let the one issue cloud the other."

"Well I don't." Trowa said levelly. "He'll do what is required of him, or perish in the attempt. That's what all my people undertake to do, and Quatre is no different."

"Well I shouldn't think that will be necessary in this situation," Heero said with a mirthless laugh "Although it might be simpler. Where is Chang?"

"He went down to the cells to see his client. "Trowa replied. "I've told him where we are, so he may be along later. He's still a little apprehensive about the whole business. He still thinks it undermines the fairness of the 'Trial by Jury' system, and he's worried about being disbarred if it was to ever come to light."

"It won't come to light," Heero said, "Because there is nothing to come to light. There is nothing illegal or unethical in w hat we are doing, and even if there were, nothing can be traced back to Chang, so he needn't worry."

Both men curtailed their conversation as their order was brought to the table, and they remained contemplatively silent as they pushed the unwanted food around their plates, both occasionally spearing a forkful of food and raising it to his lips for the sake of appearances.

"Is there anything wrong with the prosecution's case?" Trowa asked eventually.

"Nothing at all." Heero replied tonelessly. "That will be Quatre's biggest problem. It is completely watertight; there is nothing wrong with it at all. He will have to make bricks without straw."

"And make them he will," Trowa said flatly, "But completely off the record, you do seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble for this man Maxwell. Why are you so convinced that he is innocent?" He asked. "I'm not asking officially, because it is not my concern one way or the other, I just do what I am asked to do, but what is your interest in this case?." Heero did not reply, he just fixed Trowa with an even, steady gaze. "Oh," Trowa said finally, as realisation dawned, "Oh no!"

From his seat in the pulic gallery, Heero watched as the jury came back into the court and took their seats in the jury box. He searched the faces of the 12 ordinary men and women that were to decide the prisoner's fate, looking for one in particular. He found it, sweet, cherubic and the picture of benevolent innocence. A face of almost feminine beauty, with a 'peaches 'n' cream' complexion, breathtaking aquamarine eyes and silky golden hair. Heero smiled inwardly. No wonder Trowa had been smitten. Quatre was indeed beautiful, both outside and in. Just at the moment, however, Quatre's face, usually open and honest, was completely inscrutable. The rest of the jury were looking shifty and restless, but Quatre's gaze appeared to be focussed on nothing in particular, neither dead ahead, nor to one side or the other. He was just there, giving nothing away, yet concealing nothing. Trowa was right, he was the best. The face of an angel, the heart of a saint and the hands of an assassin. An interesting combination in a mate he thought to himself, and with that thought, he looked up at the prisoner.

Despite the fact that within a few minutes he was to discover whether he would live or die, Duo Maxwell's bearing was still strong and upright. He looked wan and a little tired now, but he still looked remarkably in control, although the light of mischief that had once danced in his violet eyes was now stilled. His chestnut hair was brushed back from his forehead and fell to well below his waist in a thick braid, but several stray wisps had worked loose and hung around his heart-shaped face like tendrils on a vine. His masculine good looks were tempered with a softness that made him appear quite frail, although the set of his jaw and the erect way in which he carried himself belied this. His prison officer guards stood outside the dock, lest the prisoner should make a sudden break for freedom, and Duo stood in the centre of the wooden structure, his slight figure dwarfed by its gargantuan proportions. Suddenly, as Heero studied him, the prisoner's eyes swivelled in his direction and locked with his, meeting and holding his gaze with a slightly quizzical one of his own. At that moment the judge cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Members of the jury, would your foreman please stand." He paused while a stout, bearded man in an ill-fitting, navy, chalk striped suit fought his way laboriously to his feet, then he continued. "Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?"

"No, my lord, I'm afraid we have not." The foreman said in a doom-laden voice. "We find it impossible to come to an agreement." A hum of voices rose from the public gallery, but they fell silent again as the judge spoke.

"Perhaps if you had a little more time…?"

"I'm afraid not my lord." The foreman replied, "I fear that that would not make any difference. I see little prospect of us ever agreeing."

"If there is anything I can do to assist you, perhaps some further explanation of the evidence…?"

"We fully understand the evidence my lord, it's just that we cannot seem to agree upon it." The foreman jutted out his double-chin, as if staunchly defending his intelligence.

"You're quite sure?" The judge asked, clutching at the last remaining straw, "I do not wish to hurry you in any way. You may take as much time as you like, you are aware of this fact?"

"We shall never agree my lord," The foreman said steadfastly, "Not if we were to remain here for a week."

"Very well." The judge said. "In that case I have no option but to discharge you and order a fresh trial with a new jury.

Heero slowly and noiselessly expelled the breath he had been holding. "Well done Quatre," He said to himself, "You've done it! He's got another chance."

(To be continued)

5


	3. Chapter 3

Gallows Eve (Part 3)

By DRL

"You should have been there," Quatre said exuberantly, "It was like that old film with Henry Fonda, what's it called?" He looked round at Trowa, perfectly confident that his lover would supply the correct answer.

They were sitting at a booth in the farthest corner of a smart café bar, once again many miles distant from the court. Trowa was seated in a corner with Quatre seated beside him leaning comfortably against him. Heero sat opposite them, listening to Quatre's animated narrative with an indulgent smile, and beside him sat another young man, obviously of oriental extraction, with glossy shoulder-length black hair, which he wore brushed severely back from his forehead and caught in a tight pony-tail at the nape of his neck. This gave his exotic good looks a certain harshness, which his thin, wiry build did little to dispel. He too listened to Quatre, but with a stern, unreadable expression on his face. Trowa and Heero each had a cup of coffee on the table before them and Quatre a cup of tea, but the fourth young man sipped from a glass of plain water.

"12 Angry Men?" Trowa offered.

"That's it, 12 Angry Men. Within 5 minutes they had all decided that he was guilty, all except me of course. Then for the next few hours I set about changing as many minds as I could. I couldn't change many though." A look of dismay crossed Quatre's angelic features.

"But you changed enough. Well done Quatre." Heero said with sincerity. "It can't have been easy. After all, there was no evidence in his favour at all."

"No indeed," Quatre said, smiling once more, "It certainly wasn't easy, which is why we were out for so long, and I'm sure that the three that sided with me only did so because the others were so mean to me." A frown creased Trowa's brow at Quatre's words and he placed an arm protectively about his lover's shoulders, but he remained silent. "Anyway Heero, you wanted a re-trial, and that's just what you got. Mission Accomplished."

"It _was_ exactly what I wanted, thank-you Quatre, and thank-you Trowa." Heero nodded to each man in turn, acknowledging their efforts on his behalf. "You've delivered the goods yet again."

"I should have hoped that there was never any doubt." Trowa said dryly. "So, what now?"

"We clear his name." Heero said flatly.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Trowa asked, "You said yourself, there is no evidence in his favour at all."

"There must be." Heero said, "All we have to do is find it."

"You say that Yuy, as though we hadn't tried to do exactly that in the months before the trial." The solemn young man spoke for the first time, and with considerable chagrin. "If there was any evidence in Duo's favour, don't you think we would have put it forward before now? I am just as convinced of his innocence as you are, and we didn't exactly rest on our laurels when it came to proving it."

"I'm not casting aspersions on your competence as an advocate Chang," Heero replied evenly, "Merely as a detective. This time you will have myself, plus the complete resources of Barton's agency acting on your behalf. If there is anything to find, and there must be, rest assured that we will find it."

"Don't worry Wufei," Quatre said with an encouraging smile, "We'll be able to turn up enough fresh evidence to allow you to raise at least a reasonable doubt that your client committed this horrible crime. That should be enough to win him an acquittal."

"NO!" Heero said with a vehemence that had several other diners ceasing their conversation and casting apprehensive glances in their direction. "There must be no question of reasonable doubt." He continued at a more moderate vocal level. "Duo must be completely vindicated. Reasonable doubt will get him freed in once sense, but he will never be free of the social stigma. People will never be 'sure'. He will go through the rest of his life with people whispering behind his back – 'Isn't that Duo Maxwell, the one who shot his lover? They couldn't prove it, but they never arrested anyone else did they?'"

"Yes, Heero's right." Trowa said. "Duo's name must be completely cleared, which means that we can do no less than find the real murderer."

"And how are you going to do that?" Wufei Chang asked, "We've been over and over the witness statements until I could repeat them all to you by rote. I'm sure we have missed nothing."

"But you must have," Heero said matter-of-factly, "Because Duo did not shoot Zechs Merquise, so that means someone else did. Now, let's look at the thing logically. Chang, who stands to gain by Merquise's death?"

"Well, to all intents and purposes no-one did." Wufei said. "You know that the deceased was once the heir to the Peacecraft fortune?" Trowa gave a low whistle and Heero nodded sagely. "Well, as the story goes, the heir presumptive was disinherited in favour of his younger sister Relena because their old curmudgeon of a father disapproved of his son's literary aspirations and wild ways, considering him nothing short of a wastrel and a ne'er-do-well. Old Peacecraft gave his profligate son Milliardo an ultimatum – give up his bohemian lifestyle, settle down and take over the running of the family business, or be cut off without a penny. Milliardo told old Peacecraft where to go, and old Peacecraft ultimately did the same to his son. Zechs Merquise was simply Millardo Peacecraft's _nom de plume_, but he adopted the name legally after his father disinherited him, as a final act of defiance. When old Peacecraft died, Relena got the lot, and quite a considerable lot it was too."

"So Merquise can't have been killed for his money," Trowa said, "Since it seems he never actually had any."

"Well Relena gave him an allowance, which amounted to a few thousand a month, and his books were hardly best sellers, so there wasn't exactly much by way of advances and royalties, so no, his estate did not amount to very much, no." Wufei replied.

"Did he have a will?" Heero asked.

"Yes he did," Wufei replied, "One which does not help us at all. He left everything to Duo Maxell."

"Damn!" Heero said in an undertone. "Did Duo know about this?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he did." Wufei said regretfully. "The couple both made wills in each other's favour when they first moved in together."

"I know," Said Quatre brightly, "What if some relative of Duo's killed Zechs and framed Duo for the crime, which he knew would carry a capital sentence. He could then claim Duo's estate, which would also include Zechs', such as it is."

"No, it's no good." Wufei said dully, "Firstly, the allowance Relena gave Zechs would cease on his death, so there would only be his book royalties, and although they are selling more now because of the surrounding scandal, they still won't make anyone a fortune and anyway, his publishers will grab most of the proceeds. Secondly, if Duo Maxwell were ever convicted of murdering Zechs Merquise, he would definitely not inherit a penny piece from his estate, since a murderer is prohibited by law from profiting from a crime in this way. Thirdly, Duo has no living relatives – he is quite alone in the world." Trowa looked across at Heero, their eyes met for a moment and an enigmatic glance passed between them as Quatre spoke again.

"Who would inherit Duo's estate if he was to...?" He tailed off and looked apologetically at Heero.

"Do you know, I have no idea?" Wufei said. "Unless he has changed his will following the break-up, it should still be in favour of Zechs Merquise."

"Which brings us full circle and gets us nowhere at all." Trowa said.

"Could there have been a jealous lover on the scene?" Quatre asked thoughtfully.

"And how would that work pray?" Heero asked scornfully, "If it were Zechs's lover, he would hardly shoot his paramour would he, and if it were Duo's lover, why would he take such pains to make it appear as though Duo committed the crime. Let's not forget the fact that Zechs was shot with Duo's own gun, which was left at the scene clearly to advertise this fact."

"But how did the murderer get the gun?" Trowa asked.

"Well isn't that the 64 billion dollar question." Said Heero.

"Yes, it is." Wufei replied. "I would be inclined to say, solve that little problem and you will have found your murderer. We tried and failed dismally while preparing Duo's defence, I wish you and your agents better luck Yuy." Wufei rummaged around in the soft leather, satchel-style briefcase that lay on the seat beside him, and withdrew three buff-coloured folders overflowing with papers, each unlabelled and unmarked in any way. He handed a folder to each of the other three men around the table. "These files contain the entire case for both the prosecution and the defence. You now have copies of all of the witness statements as well as reports from scene-of-crime officers and from forensic and ballistic experts. This is highly irregular, so I need hardly remind you to keep the information to yourselves."

He rummaged in his briefcase once more and produced a long, slim envelope which he handed to Heero. "Turn up at Leadenhall Prison at 9.00 tomorrow morning, and present this to the Governor." He then fastened his briefcase and rose. "I trust that you will keep me apprised of your progress. Gentlemen..." He nodded curtly to the three seated men and turning on his heel, left the café.

"Is that what I think it is?" Trowa asked, indicating the envelope in Heero's hand.

"Yes." Heero replied. " Trowa, study the file and deploy your people as you see fit, just let me know what you can come up with. Tomorrow morning I am going to see the prisoner."

(To be continued)

5


	4. Chapter 4

Gallows Eve (Part 4)

By DRL

Heero Yuy looked at the watch that adorned his left wrist. 09.08. He had been inside the prison only eight minutes, but already it felt like hours. And Duo Maxwell had been here how long? He deliberately pushed the thought from his mind. Instead he looked down at the wooden table at which he sat, its surface peppered with cigarette burns and etched with names, initials and off-colour slogans carved into it by scores of prisoners, all of whom Heero assumed had been here for the same reason as he now was. The interview room was drab, featureless and thoroughly depressing, with its odour of stale tobacco mixed with Jeyes fluid, and its single bare-bulb light fitting, which hung low over the table, causing a shadow to be cast across the upper portion of the room, adding to the gloom. The only window was a small, square glass pane let into the heavy steel door and this was barred, although for what reason Heero could not fathom since its size was enough to staunch any hope of egress.

His gaze darted to the door as he heard the sound of voices outside, and he rose as the door swung open. A uniformed prison guard entered, followed by the person Heero had come here to see, the prisoner Duo Maxwell. Maxwell was dressed in faded blue jeans and a chambray shirt, open at the neck and sleeves loosely rolled. A white tee-shirt could just be glimpsed above the open collar of the shirt and were it not for the fact that Heero was well aware that every other inmate of the prison wore exactly the same outfit, he would have thought it quite a becoming little ensemble. Duo's waist-length, chestnut hair was swept back into its customary braid, and just as they had when Heero had seen him in court, some tendrils of hair had worked loose and hung around his face, framing and softening it. He looked pale, wan, tired and thin, and Heero felt a momentary pang of alarm. He prayed that this ordeal would not get the better of the braided young man before Heero could accomplish his self-appointed task.

'Hang in there Duo,' He willed, 'Not long now.'

"'Ere's yer visitor Maxwell," The guard said roughly, "Siddown." He drew a chair out from under the table, scraping its metal legs noisily across the floor. Duo lowered himself down into the chair as he looked intently at the man seated across the table from him. The guard withdrew with visible reluctance, closing and locking the door behind him and imprisoning them both within the dismal cell.

"Good morning Duo." Heero said, smiling gently in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He was not very good at smiles.

"Who the hell are you?" Though profane, Duo's retort carried no rancour, only mild curiosity. His voice, though well-modulated, was slightly hoarse, as though this were the first time he had spoken for the morning and his vocal cords were still a little stiff.

"I'm here to talk to you about your case." Heero replied, redoubling his efforts on the reassuring smile. Duo expelled an exasperated breath.

"What for?" He said testily, then he narrowed his eyes, sat back in his chair and regarded the Asian man who sat before him. Piercing cobalt-blue eyes, stylishly trimmed, but unruly dark hair, expensively tailored suit, gold cufflinks and a Rolex watch was all there was to see, and Duo drank it all in. "Wait a minute," He said as he concluded his scrutiny, "I've seen you before. You were at my trial. You kept staring at me." At this Heero felt the colour rise in his cheeks and his gaze fell to the tabletop. "I wouldn't worry about it," Duo continued dryly, "You were by no means the only one," His voice dropped a little, "But at least _**you**_ didn't look away when I caught your eye."

Heero raised his eyes to meet Duo's again, and it suddenly occurred to him that he had never before seen eyes of such an unusual shade…, or of such alluring beauty. He coughed to clear his throat… and his head before he spoke again.

"As I said, I'm here to talk to you about your case."

"And as _**I**_ said," Duo replied, once again with no rancour, "What for? You still haven't told me who you are. Are you a policeman?" And for the first time a note of steel entered his voice.

"No, not at all." Heero hastened to reassure him. After all he had recently been through, Duo had no reason to look kindly on the police.

"Well what are you then?" Duo asked, his manner noticeably more guarded than previously, "A reporter?"

Heero hesitated before giving his answer. He had to tread very carefully if he wanted to win Duo's confidence and trust. After all, he had no official status and Duo was in no way compelled to speak with him. In fact, his very presence in the prison was highly irregular, let alone to be granted a private interview.

"I'm…, well you could say I'm an agent, of sorts." Heero said finally. "I undertake enquiries and investigations on an independent basis. I've taken an interest in your case and I would like to see if I could help you." Duo sat back in his chair and regarded Heero squarely, head cocked slightly to one side and eyes narrowed, as if assessing what he saw.

"You're an agent? What, a federal agent?" He asked with genuine interest.

"No," Heero replied, "Not a federal agent. I told you, I'm not a policeman. I undertake enquiries, but," He added quickly, forestalling Duo, who had opened his mouth to speak, "I'm not a private detective either. I'm just an interested party who wants to help you."

"And how much is this help going to cost me?" Duo asked caustically, "I'm sure you're not 'interested' enough to work for free."

"Actually I am." Heero said. "I make no charge for my services. I have…, independent means." Duo raised an eyebrow at this.

"And you want to help _**me**_? Well I'm sorry Mr…"

"Yuy, Heero Yuy." Heero supplied.

"I'm sorry Mr Yuy, but I'm beyond help. You were there in that courtroom during the trial. You heard all the evidence. Hell, if I didn't know better, even _**I**_ would think I was guilty!" Duo exclaimed with some vehemence, his eyes flashing angrily.

"And yet here you sit, as yet un-convicted of any crime." Heero added quietly. The retort that Duo was about to utter died on his lips as Heero's last words sunk slowly in. His body visibly deflated as his mounting ire cooled and the fight seeped out of him.

"I suppose you're right." He said quietly. "It's just that being in here, one tends to get a little hopeless." He looked across the table at Heero, and the despair in his violet eyes clawed at Heero's heart and it was with a supreme effort of will that he stopped himself from reaching out and taking Duo's hand in his, just to give the other man a modicum of the reassurance and comfort he so obviously craved.

"By rights, I should be under sentence to hang in 14 days," Duo continued in a low monotone, "But instead I have to wait an indefinite period of time for a new trial date, then I have to go through the whole tortuous fiasco again." His voice suddenly cracked and his face crumpled. "If they are going to hang me, then why don't they just get on with it? I just want this whole nightmare to be over. I don't think I can bear any more." He crossed his arms on the tabletop and buried his face, heavy sobs wracking his body.

In an instant Heero was out of his seat and at Duo's side. He knelt beside the sobbing young man, took him in his arms and held him close, stroking his hair and murmuring gentle platitudes in an effort to calm him. He heard the rattling of keys and the scrape of metal against metal as the key turned in the lock, and the stern voice of the prison guard rent the air.

"Yer not allowed ter touch the prisoner Sir." He said as he bustled into the room.

"For heavens sake man," Heero hissed, "Can't you see that he's upset? What do you think I am going to do, slip him a file?"

"But Sir…" The guard persisted, but Heero turned on him with a baleful glare that halted all further protestation. The surley guard withdrew, pulled the door shut with a dissatisfied clang, and locked it behind him.

Heero mentally cursed the man as during the interruption Duo had collected himself and had gently extricated himself from Heero's embrace. Sensing that the moment had passed, he resumed his seat and watched as Duo wiped away his tears with his knuckles. He looked expectantly at Heero with no sign of apology or embarrassment for his breakdown.

"So," He said with a short sniff, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Did you kill Zechs Merquise?" Heero asked the question coldly and directly.

"No, I did not." Duo responded equally as strongly.

"Do you have any idea who did?"

"Yes, I do." Heero raised a startled eyebrow. He had not expected this. Duo went on to explain the remark. "I think he did it himself. It was just the sort of thing he would do, just to teach me a lesson."

"A pretty harsh lesson." Heero murmured dryly.

"That was Zechs all over, ever one to cut off his nose to spite his face. He was so melodramatic about virtually everything." Duo spoke the words dispassionately, as if there was no particular fondness in the reminiscence, but no animosity either.

"Had he ever threatened to take his life before?" Duo laughed mirthlessly.

"Yes, all the time. Whenever his books didn't sell, whenever a horse he'd backed lost at the races, whenever he got a bad review, all the time."

"Did you ever take him seriously?"

"No, not even…" Duo hesitated and looked away from Heero, "Not even that last night."

"The night he died?" Duo's gaze swivelled to meet Heero's once more.

"Yes."

"He actually threatened to take his own life that night, during your last interview with him?"

"Yes." Duo affirmed. "Not in so many words perhaps, but that's what he meant alright."

"Tell me exactly what happened that evening."

"Okay." Duo took a deep breath and began. "At around 3.00 in the afternoon I received a note from Zechs asking me to meet with him."

"How exactly did you get the note?" Heero asked.

"It came by special messenger. He was told to wait for a reply, so I quickly wrote one out and gave it to him."

"Yes," Heero nodded briefly in agreement, "both notes were read out in court. You wrote yours on the back of his, and the piece of paper was found in Merquise's pocket after his death. Hmmm, it's a pity he didn't mention killing himself in the note." He added dryly.

"That's what Wuf..., er Mr Chang said." The braided man agreed. "But no, he did not. All he did was make me look like the bad guy yet again. His note was all desperate and pleading and mine was terse and cold. Prosecuting counsel made quite a meal out of it."

Heero nodded. He remembered. The prosecution had indeed made much of Duo's cool response to his erstwhile lover's heartrending plea for a meeting. He looked at the other man with eyes filled with sympathy, but he continued his questioning in an unemotional, purposeful manner.

"You suggested the time of the meeting. Was there any particular reason for your choice of time?"

"No, not really." Duo shrugged, then he gave a short, mirthless laugh. "If you want the honest truth, I chose 9.00 because it was late enough for me to have dinner and clear up, but early enough for me to have him in and out without interfering with my regular bedtime. How calculating is that?" Heero drew his lips into a tight line, which was supposed to indicate a smile.

"When was your regular bedtime?" He asked.

"Well, now that I'm on my own it's around 10.00. When Zechs and I were together we always went to sleep much later." Realising that what he had just said could be misconstrued, Duo coloured and quickly added, "Because we were often out late, or had guests round." Heero nodded. If he noticed Duo's unwitting _double entendre_ he gave no sign.

"He arrived on time?"

"Bang on time. I knew he would – he was a stickler for punctuality."

"And you let him in?"

"Yes. He couldn't have let himself in because I changed the locks when I broke off our relationship; I had to. He refused to give up his key after he left, and I didn't want him wandering in and out of here at will."

"How did he seem?"

"If you mean did he seem like a man about to commit suicide, no, I have to admit that he did not. He seemed his usual self, a bit subdued, but that was to be expected, given the circumstances."

"Where did the interview take place?"

"In the living room."

"Did you offer him any refreshment?"

"Yes, we had coffee."

"Did _**you**_ offer?"

"I told you, we had…" Duo paused, as Heero's words sunk in. "Actually no, he _**asked**_." Duo corrected, "It was he who asked for the coffee, I remember now." Heero nodded again.

"You went to make it?"

"Yes," Duo said, "I went to the kitchen, poured two cups, then I brought them to the living room on a tray."

"You said you poured two cups, you didn't make the coffee?"

"No, it was already made. I brewed a fresh pot because I knew Zechs was coming."

"So you were prepared to entertain him?" Heero asked dourly, and the question carried with it a hint of accusation.

"No I was not." Duo replied somewhat defensively. "I did no more than I would have done for any other guest. I always brew a fresh pot of coffee when I am expecting guests. If the coffee is already brewed it saves time, you know, so that they are not kept waiting. I didn't really intend to offer Zechs coffee at all, I was just on auto-pilot that evening, and I did it automatically."

"How long were you out of sight of him?"

"Not at all really," Duo replied, "The kitchen, well I suppose one would call it a kitchenette really, is in sight of the living room. I had to turn my back to him to walk to the kitchen, so I suppose for the time it took me to walk to the kitchen, grab two cups and pour the coffee, I had my back to him."

"So he had an opportunity to take the gun, albeit an extremely brief one." Heero murmured _sotto voce_, then a little louder he said, "Mr Maxwell, would you allow me to have a look at your flat, just so that I can get an idea of the lie of the land, as it were?"

"Why not?" Duo shrugged. "Have you a piece of paper and a pen? I'll give you the phone number of someone who has the key." Heero produced the writing materials and Duo scribbled down a name and a phone number in a bold, confident hand. "He's an old friend of Zechs', so take anything he might say about me with a pinch of salt." Maxwell said this as he wrote, but without acrimony; he was merely stating a fact. He handed the paper to Heero, who took it, folded it and slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket without looking at it.

"What happened when you brought the coffee?" He asked.

"We talked. He started by saying that he was sorry and asked me to forgive him. When I said that I couldn't forgive what he had done, he became angry and then began shouting at me, saying some quite mean and hurtful things. He said that he couldn't see what I was getting so upset about. The fact was that as I had already been living in sin with him for over a year, it was pointless my taking the moral high ground now since my reputation was already in tatters. He said that I might as well stay with him, since no-one else would have me because I was 'soiled goods'…" Duo tailed off and looked down at his clasped hands as they lay on the tabletop. His knuckles were white and bloodless, and he controlled his breathing with a visible effort. After a few moments he looked up at Heero and continued his narrative, his voice choked with emotion. "I told him to get out after that. I told him to get out and that I never wanted to see him again, alive or dead. 'Don't worry, I'm going' he said, 'and don't worry, you never will see me again alive, no-one will'. He went out of the door and I closed it behind him. It was a few seconds later that I heard the shots."

"What did you do then?" Heero asked gently.

"I opened the door and ran out to see what had happened. I knew that what I had heard were gunshots."

"What did you see?" Duo swallowed hard before responding.

"I saw him..., Zechs. Just lying there.

"Did you see anyone else?"

'No." Duo stated with a decisive shake of the head. "I've been over this a thousand times in my head. I didn't see anyone else at all."

"Okay, that's fine. What did you think when you saw Mr Merquise lying in the hall?"

"At the time I was incapable of thinking anything rational." Duo replied in a faraway voice, "The only thing that I remember going through my head was how impossible for him to be laying there on the floor with two holes in his chest, because I had just been talking to him a few seconds ago. It's silly isn't it?" Duo said with a mirthless little laugh. "It's just what people in the movies say when they are told that someone they know is dead. 'He can't be, I just saw him yesterday'. Well it's true Mr Yuy, that is exactly what went through my head. It was just so ridiculously surreal, it was almost funny."

"Now I want you to think very carefully Mr Maxwell," Heero said gravely, "You have already said that you did not see anyone else in the hallway. Did you get the impression at all that there _had been_ anyone else in the hallway?"

Duo opened his mouth to speak almost immediately, then closed it again. He appeared to think for a moment, staring blankly at a point somewhere above Heero's head, and when he finally did speak, it was with a note of wonder, tinged with excitement. "Do you know, now that you mention it, I think that there might have been? You know how it is when you are very familiar with a sound. You hear it and you register what it is on a subconscious level, but you don't really think about it, or about having heard it?" He looked at Heero to see if he was following. Heero nodded in acknowledgement and Duo continued. "Well it was like that. I heard something. I knew what it was at the time because it was such an everyday sound, but under the circumstances, I simply put it to the back of my mind and never thought about it again, until now."

"What did you hear?"

"I heard the door to the stairwell bang shut." Duo said. "It is a fire door, and has one of those special hinges that keeps it closed. What I mean is, you can open it, but the hinge slowly pulls the door shut, so that it stays closed all the time, in case of fire. Well the hinge is broken, and instead of closing the door slowly, it pulls it hard and makes it bang shut. It's been like that ever since Zechs and I moved into the flat. Some of the other tenants complained to the landlord about it, but it never really bothered Zechs and I. The fact is, we were near the end of the corridor, so we never got the worst of it. You see, we all have to use the stairs whenever the lifts are out of order, which is almost always, so the door bangs quite a lot. Anyway, I got to know the sound very well and I heard it as I ran out into the hallway. My god, there _was_ someone there, wasn't there?" The excitement in Duo's voice had mounted until he spoke with what could only be described as animation. Heero made no attempt to rein him in. The man needed some hope.

"I'd say it was almost a certainty." He said levelly. "One final question Mr Maxwell, how tall are you?"

"How tall am I?" Duo's mouth curled up in the beginnings of a mocking smile at the question, but when he caught sight of Heero's serious, uncompromising stare, his face straightened. "I'm five ten exactly. I know because they measured practically everything about me when I came in here." He added dryly.

"Thank-you Mr Maxwell." Heero rose, and as he did so the keys scraped in the lock once again and the prison guard entered the room. "If you remember anything more you can contact me via Mr Chang. I have a team of very competent people working on your case, so please try not to worry. You will be out of here soon." He tried another smile, and by the warm smile that he received in return, he assumed that he had been successful.

As he walked out of the heavy metal door let into the lofty, unbroken wall that surrounded the prison precincts, which was the only means of entrance and egress from the institution, Heero breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, fresh mid-morning air. Before getting into his car, he removed the piece of paper on which Duo had written the telephone number from his pocket and looked at it for the first time. As he did so he pulled a tiny cellular phone from the same pocket, pressed a pre-programmed button and held it to his ear. A moment later he spoke into the minute communication device, keeping his voice low, as though he feared he was being overheard.

"Trowa? Yes, I've just left. I have a name for you - Treize Kushrenada… Yes, as soon as you can." He disconnected the call and replaced the phone and the slip of paper into his pocket. As he drove away, the sight of the walled prison in the rear-view mirror of his car, retreating in size as he sped away from it, was the best sight he had seen in many a long while..., well, perhaps the second-best.

12


	5. Chapter 5

**Gallows Eve (Part 5)**

**By DRL **

Trowa closed the buff-coloured file in front of him and pushed his chair back from the desk. As if this were his cue, Quatre rose from the overstuffed sofa he had been lounging on, crossed to the desk and dropped lightly onto Trowa's lap.

"Well?" He asked expectantly, placing his arms around the neck of his boss and lover.

"Well," Trowa echoed, "He certainly appears to have an impeccable pedigree. The Khushrenadas are old money – very old." He added dryly.

"We'll have to tread carefully then," Quatre said, making a dispirited moue, "These people's feathers are very easily ruffled. What exactly is it that Heero wants?" He asked, laying his head gently against Trowa's.

Trowa sat back in the comfortably deep leather seat of his high-backed chair, holding Quatre close against him. He hesitated for a while before replying, breathing deeply of the light spring-fresh scent of his lover's hair, then he sighed.

"What Heero wants," He said finally, "Is the defendant." Quatre raised his head to look quizzically at Trowa.

"What do you mean love?" He asked.

"What I mean," Trowa replied, "Is that he's gone and fallen for the accused." Quatre's face first took on an expression of astonishment, then lit up with animation.

"You mean he's in love with Duo Maxwell?" He said excitedly. "Oh Trowa, this is wonderful. How romantic!"

"I don't know about romantic," Trowa said dryly, "But it will certainly be awkward."

"Howso?" Quatre settled himself back into Trowa's embrace.

"Because," His lover replied laconically, "We will be under serious pressure to come up with the evidence needed to clear Maxwell's name. Now can you see why Heero was so adamant that reasonable doubt was not enough? He needs to find the real killer so that Maxwell can be acquitted without a stain on his character. Heero can then carry him off into the sunset and they can live happily ever after without any vicious rumours following them wherever they go."

"Yes, I see what you mean." Quatre said unhappily. "Do you think we can do it?" He asked. "I mean, the evidence..." He tailed off.

"Never mind the evidence - Maxwell says he is innocent." Trowa said stubbornly.

"Do you believe him?"

"Heero does."

"But perhaps," Quatre said cautiously, aware of the close friendship that existed between his lover and their client, despite their outward show of mutual antipathy, "Under the circumstances, Heero's heart is ruling his head a little at the moment." Trowa sighed heavily.

"I greatly fear," He said as he idly toyed with a lock of his lover's hair, "That you have hit the nail on the head, my love."

Trowa drove carefully around the fountain in the centre of the gravelled courtyard and pulled up outside the Khushrenada mansion. The house was elegantly palatial, but was also a little imposing in its self-satisfied grandeur. Its architecture incorporated a mixture of styles, as though each successive generation of Khushrenadas had felt the need to place their stamp on the place, creating an eclectic but strangely harmonious blend of architectural themes. He climbed the limestone steps to the large double-doors that formed the entrance to the house, but as he looked around for some means of announcing his presence, the door swung silently open.

"Yes Sir?"

It was an elderly man in a black tailcoat and grey pinstriped trousers, obviously an old family retainer. His manner was respectful but reserved, and his expression was solicitously blank. He gave the distinct impression that he would have been equally as accommodating had he found a soot-blackened chimney sweep on the doorstep or an elegantly attired gentleman.

"I'd like to speak to Treize Khushrenada." Trowa handed the old man a small card, on which his name, 'Trowa Barton' was printed in bold copperplate. The card bore just the name - nothing else. The old man took the card, but did not so much as glance at it.

"I will see if His Excellency is at home Sir." He said, and stood back to allow Trowa to enter. Trowa knew exactly what this meant. His Excellency was definitely at home, but the butler would go and enquire whether he was prepared to receive _**him**_.

"Thank-you." Trowa said, and entered the house.

He stepped into a cavernous entrance hall. Trowa was rather surprised that he had not been left standing on the doorstep and had the door closed in his face, while the butler ascertained his master's wishes. As he surveyed his surroundings he saw that he had been quite correct in his supposition. Everything around him screamed 'old money', from the antique furnishings to the gilt-framed portraits that adorned almost every inch of available wall space. Fleetingly he wondered whether he had erred in not having given this assignment to Quatre. His lover had offered – _'Old money is he? Well so am I, so perhaps I should go and talk to him?'_ he had suggested. It was a good point, but Trowa had refused on the grounds that Quatre had been in the jury box throughout Duo Maxwell's trial. As a friend of Merquise's, Treize Khushrenada might have attended the trial once or twice, and if he had, he might have seen Quatre, the jury box being perfectly visible from the public gallery. Although he conceded that his view on this might be a trifle biased, in his opinion, his lover's appearance did not exactly allow him to blend into the background. No, he had done the right thing. They could not afford to take any chances, however slim.

Trowa was quite prepared to be sent away with a flea in his ear. The card he had given to the butler was one of two types that he and all of his operatives carried. When calling on persons of Treize Khushrenada's standing, a simple visiting card, of the type Trowa had just offered was given. This way, the nature of the visit and the occupation of the visitor could be kept undisclosed until the very last moment. Such people were familiar with visiting cards and would not be unduly suspicious upon receiving one, even from an apparent stranger. The other type of card was closer to a regular business card, giving a name and contact details, but still no company or organisation name, and no direct mailing address – just a mailbox number. The discretion of Trowa's organisation worked both ways, protecting both his clients' privacy and that of his agency. Even the telephone numbers printed were connected via a circuitous, untraceable routing. The regular cards were handed out freely, as and when required.

When a visiting card was given, 8 out of 10 times the recipient's curiosity was piqued even though they did not know the person named on the card, and an interview was granted (although the said interview was occasionally abruptly curtailed as soon as its nature was revealed). The remaining recipients refused an interview point-blank. As Trowa wondered which of these responses he would receive from Treize Khushrenada, he heard the footsteps of the butler as he returned.

"His Excellency will receive you in the drawing room. This way Sir..."

Trowa followed him across the black and white checkerboard design marble floor, up a sweeping staircase to a room on the first floor of the house. Quatre, who knew about such things, had once explained to Trowa that a drawing room, derived from the term 'withdrawing room', was where, in days gone by, the ladies of a dinner party would withdraw after dinner, leaving the gentlemen at table, where the cloth was removed and port and cigars were passed around. After an interval of conversation, the gentlemen would rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. Such was life before emancipation, Trowa thought, as he imagined today's 'ladies' giving short shrift to such a practise.

The room was definitely a handsome room, bright, airy, prettily decorated in pastel shades of lemon and pistachio, and furnished with delicate chairs, tables and sofas. Trowa preferred to stand, fearing that his man's weight might prove too much for one of the dainty little chairs. As he surveyed his surroundings he saw that this room too was favoured with a portrait, but just the one this time. He glanced at it and was about to turn away when he performed a classic double-take.

The oil-on-canvas portrait was of a man in full military dress uniform – blue cutaway coat, ivory breeches and knee-length boots. The coat was liberally embellished with gold braid and gilt buttons, and hugged the wearer's trim physique impressively. The man had one hand on the elegantly-swept hilt of a rapier that was belted at his hip, and a cape hung in heavy folds from one broad shoulder. Despite the dapper attire, it was the man's face that had caught Trowa's attention. He was young – not more than mid-twenties, but he bore an unmistakable air of pride and arrogance that leaped out at one. His roguishly handsome face, with neatly coiffed auburn hair and pale blue eye, stared out of the picture at Trowa with something of a mocking smirk playing about his lips. His eyes would have been quite fine, but for the severely shaped eyebrows that framed them. The artist was remarkably competent and the painting was skilfully executed. The work was signed, but the signature was illegible. However, at the centre of the lower edge of the frame, the words 'His Excellency, Treize Khusrenada' were heavily embossed. So, this was his host. Trowa took a step back in order to get a better look at the picture, and as he did so its surroundings also came into full view.

The picture was situated above the mantelpiece of the room's large fireplace. The weather was clement and the grate was empty, but Trowa now noticed that the mantelpiece held several framed photographs. He stepped closer again in order to inspect them. Just snapshots, some of which featured the same young man from the portrait above, but in civilian clothes and Trowa noted how his air of arrogance disappeared along with the formal attire. Suddenly he saw something that had his investigator's nose twitching and he leaned forward for a closer look. One of the framed photographs had a smaller, unframed picture tucked into a corner between its glazing and the frame. In one fluid motion Trowa removed the picture and dropped it into the pocket of his jacket. Almost at the same instant the door opened and a man entered the room, but all he saw was a tall, handsome young man, elegantly dressed and perfectly composed, standing patiently beside a side table on which rested a bowl of cut roses. This table was several feet away from the mantelpiece.

"Mr Barton, I'm Treize Khushrenada." He gave Trowa an unashamedly appraising look as he approached, his hand extended.

It was unmistakably the man from the portrait and the photographs but today he wore dark blue slacks and a white shirt, open at the neck and sleeves loosely rolled. His oxford brogues were an attractive oxblood shade, and they matched his belt perfectly. Trowa took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

"Have we met before?" Treize Khushrenada asked. "I feel as if I should know you, but I don't think I do." His voice was rich and mellow, and his diction was perfect. His well-rounded vowels and precise enunciation, stark evidence of an expensive private education, reminded Trowa of Quatre, and he suppressed a fond smile.

"No, we have never met." Trowa replied, certain that he had not run into him at one of the Society functions his high-born lover frequently dragged him to. Khushrenada looked quizzically at him.

"I know a Dekim Barton, are you any relation?" Trowa's features remained impassive. He was indeed acquainted with the man Khushrenada mentioned, but he was not going to admit as much. He needed to keep the interview focussed and he didn't want to get sidetracked by being drawing into discussions about this connection with Dekim Barton and his ilk.

"No," He replied, "No relation at all." His host shrugged dismissively.

"Well in that case, what can I do for you Mr Barton.?" He sat down on one of the dainty sofas, and crossed on leg elegantly over the other. The half-mocking, half-amused smile from the portrait played around his lips as he waved a hand nonchalantly in the direction of a nearby chair, indicating that Trowa should take a seat.

"I'm looking into some aspects of the Zechs Merquise murder case." Trowa said, keeping his eyes trained on Khushrenada's face as he sat down in the chair. His response had clearly taken the other man by surprise, but had Trowa also seen fear in those cold eyes? Khushrenada hesitated before he spoke.

"Oh." He said flatly. "A tragic business, tragic, but how can_** I**_ help you?

"You were a friend of Mr Merquise's." It was a flat statement, not a question, and it appeared to confuse the young man.

"A friend," He said questioningly, "Of Zechs'?" His oddly-shaped eyebrows came together in a frown. "Hardly that Mr Barton. Zechs and I were lovers." It was Trowa's turn to frown.

"Lovers?" He said. "But I though he and Duo Maxwell..."

"Zechs and I were lovers until the braided wunderkind came along and lured him away from me, although," Khushrenada added somewhat whistfully, " Zechs was always a free spirit, and I doubt whether I could truly have said that he was ever really mine in the first place." Trowa was taken aback by the revelation, but the only indication he gave was the raising of an eyebrow. "Oh yes Mr Barton," Khushrenada continued, "Many a night of passion was had between us under this very roof." He glanced up at the decorated ceiling. "Then the slut Maxwell appeared on the scene. Zechs was immediately infatuated with him. He left me and took up with Maxwell, for all the good it ultimately did him."

"So relations between Zechs Merquise and yourself were strained?" Trowa asked. Treize Khushrenada gave a bark of laughter.

"Not a bit of it, my dear." He replied smoothly. "You won't find a motive there. I didn't really blame Zechs for falling for Duo Maxwell. I daresay I would have done the same, had I seen him first. He's a comely piece, I'll say that for him. And that hair... well, need one say more?" Trowa frowned again.

"So you and Zechs Merquise remained friends even though he left you for someone else?"

"Of course." Khushrenada replied. "Never let it be said that the Khushrenadas are sore losers. And besides," He continued with a dismissive flick of the wrist, "It was just a phase. I fully expected Zechs to tire of Maxwell before too long, then he would be back with his tail between those lovely legs of his."

"Rather a lengthy phase." Trowa said dryly. "He and Duo Maxwell were together for around three years weren't they?" It was a low blow, and Trowa knew it. Treize Khushrenada lowered his gaze uncomfortably and picked at a loose thread in the seam of his pants.

"I will admit," He replied grudgingly, "The thing lasted longer than anyone ever expected it would. I half-believe that Zechs really was in love with the fellow."

"It would appear that he definitely was," Trowa countered, "After all, he made a proposal of marriage, didn't he?" Khushrenada gave a snort of derisive laughter.

"Yeees," He said, drawing out the word contemplatively, "Zechs was nothing if not capricious. I believe he meant to do it too, but the Maxwell creature wouldn't have him. One has to admire him for that. You've got to have spirit to turn down the heir to the Peacecraft fortune."

"The heir?" Trowa frowned quizzically, "I thought that he had been disinherited."

"Nonsense!" Khushrenada replied, "In the words of the immortal Bard, Old man Peacecraft was _'Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'_. He would never really have disinherited his only son. Far too proud of the family history to see the line die out, as it surely would with only Relena as heir. His cutting Zechs off was just old Peacecraft flexing his parental muscles. There was not a thing in it – you mark my words." Trowa nodded his comprehension.

"Considering he was something of a rival," He then asked, "How came you to be Duo Maxwell's landlord?"

"Oh that," Khushrenada said airily, "Yes, I can see how it might seem a little odd. Well it's perfectly simple really. When Zechs took up with Maxwell he needed a place for the two of them to live. He had fallen out with his governor because of his profligate lifestyle long before, and his taking up with Le Maxwell was the final straw. As you know, he was cut off without a penny, so when he and Duo were looking for a place to set up home together, naturally he came to me."

"Naturally?" Trowa queried.

"Well yes, you see I have quite a large property portfolio, and the building that Zechs and Duo lived in is owned by me. There happened to be a couple of flats vacant, so I let them have one rent free." Trowa raised his eyebrows.

"That was good of you." He remarked, "Especially under the circumstances."

"Not at all," Countered the other, "After all, Zechs and I go back a very long way, and it's not as though I need the money." Trowa glanced around at his surroundings, but said nothing. The other man continued.

"When Duo threw Zechs out, he came to me. He told me that Zechs and he had parted company and asked me whether he might stay on at the flat. I told him he could."

"Rent free also?" Trowa asked. The other man smiled wryly.

"Oh no, not our Mr Maxwell; he is too proud for that. Would you believe, the fellow drew himself up to his full height and insisted that I charge him the full rent for the apartment. The little fool! He couldn't possibly have afforded it! I just quoted him a nominal sum - a few hundred a month, well within his means. Of course, he was suspicious at first. Our boy is no slouch, whatever else he may be. He said that he thought the sum a little low and I told him that I use the block as a sort of 'grace and favour' apartment block, so the rents are somewhat lower than average."

"And he believed this?" Trowa asked.

"Hook, line and sinker." Treize Khushrenada replied. "It's not so very far from the truth anyway." He uncrossed his legs and rose gracefully to his feet. "You said you wanted a key?" Trowa nodded.

"Yes please, if you have one."

"I'll take you to Shadwell. He looks after things for me - my man of business, if you like. He'll be able to let you have one, if there's one available. You'll have to excuse the smell in there though," Khushrenada added with an apologetic smile, "We've been having some restoration work done in that part of the house, and there is still a faint smell of paint in the room." Trowa rose to follow, but hesitated before doing so.

"Just one more question, Your Excellency."

His host turned to face him with a look of polite enquiry. He was obviously eager to be of assistance, and Trowa decided that, despite his bombastic manner and acerbic tongue, he actually liked the man.

"Who do _**you**_ think killed Zechs Merquise?" Trowa asked the question, although he now thought he had an inkling as to the answer. The older man fixed Trowa with a sincere, steady gaze.

"I have absolutely no idea Mr Barton," He replied, "But I can guarantee you one thing, it was not that milksop Maxwell." Trowa nodded.

During a brief but enlightening interview with Treize Khushrenada's steward, Trowa obtained a key to Duo Maxwells apartment, as well as confirmation of his growing conviction. He telephoned Heero from his car on the way back to his office. Heero answered on the second ring.

"I've got the key," The detective began, without preamble, "And I think I've got the killer." A full half minute passed before Heero spoke.

"Who is it?" He asked tonelessly.

"Why, the person you least expect it to be of course," The other man replied, "Just like in any good detective story."

13


	6. Chapter 6

GALLOWS EVE (chapter 6)

by DRL

The courtroom was filled to capacity, and Heero frowned as he looked across at the spectators seated in the public gallery. They were like ghouls, all of them. Ghouls feasting on dead flesh - or potentially dead flesh in this case. They were all here to watch Duo Maxwell sentenced to death. Not a one of them was on his side, not really, and Heero was sure that they would all consider it a good day's entertainment if at the end of it all they were to see the judge don the black cap and pass sentence of death. All were eager to hear the chillingly fateful words -

_"… it is my duty to pass upon you the sentence of the law - that you be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and from there to a place of execution, and that you there be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and that your body be afterwards buried within the precincts of the prison in which you shall have been last confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul. "_

Heero shuddered as he was uncomfortably reminded of the ancient Romans and their love of entertainment spectacles that culminated in human death. The women spared Duo a modicum of sympathy because of his looks _('it'll be a great shame of course, such a handsome face, and did you ever see such a head of hair...')_ , but the men were dead against him for much the same reason _('deserves everything he gets, shooting a fellow in the back like that. The blackguard needn't think he can fool everybody with those good looks either.')_ They were all here to see him go down and the atmosphere in the courtroom was heavy with anticipation. There was, however, one face that Heero would have been glad to see in the public gallery, one belonging to a person on whom the whole case hinged, but at this time that particular face was absent. He was not unduly concerned, however, since even now Trowa was on the case. The detective had never let him down in the past, and Heero did not believe that he was about to start now. Everything would come out right – he was sure of it. He looked across at the young man he hoped also shared his confidence.

Duo Maxwell sat in the centre of the dock, looking paler and thinner than he had at the first trial, but just as confident and just as defiant. Across the distance from the dock to the public gallery his slight figure and waist-length braid made him look pathetically young, as if it were a child in the dock rather than a grown man, despite the sharp business suit he wore, and the show of judicial force in the body of a burly police constable stationed at the entrance to the dock lest the prisoner make a break for freedom, seemed excessive. As Heero looked across at him, Maxwell turned his head and their eyes locked. A smile spread slowly across the prisoner's face, lighting up his features, a smile that carried with it hope and determination. Heero returned the smile. The court rose as the learned judge entered and was seated, then the re-trial of _The Crown v Maxwell_ began.

At first, things went pretty much as they had at the first trial. The early witnesses all gave expert testimony, in luridly graphic and bafflingly technical detail, confirming that that Zechs Merquise was indeed dead and what had caused his death. Then the prosecution put forward their case against Duo Maxwell. Again, all was much as it had been at the first trial. Witnesses were called and gave evidence about Zechs Merquise and Duo, their relationship and their subsequent break-up. Wufei Chang, once again representing the defendant, made a competent of perfunctory cross-examination of each witness, but gained no great advantage as a result of his efforts.

The re-trial continued along much the same lines as the first, until the prosecution called Joe Knight, a fellow resident in the same block of flats where the ill-fated couple had made their home. Knight, a benignly-featured and mild-mannered man of some sixty years old, gave his evidence with candour, tinged with a hint of diffidence. With a straight back and clear, unwavering voice, he again told the court how he was quite possibly the first on the scene after the murder after, whilst watching television, he heard a violent quarrel coming from the couple's apartment. Shortly afterwards he heard the fatal shots and went out to investigate. On reaching the scene he saw Zechs Merquise lying on the floor and Duo Maxwell running away. The old man's evidence was lucid, entirely plausible and completely damning for the defendant. Having completed his examination-in-chief, Nigel Lynchwood, Q.C., counsel for the prosecution, looked across at the judge with a look of smug complacency and confirmed that he had no further questions for the witness. He then sat down and looked across at his opponent, a self-satisfied smirk playing about his lips. Wufei Chang rose slowly to his feet to begin his cross-examination. He smiled kindly at the witness.

"I just have one or two questions to put to you Mr Knight; I won't detain you too long."

"Thank-you sir." The witness stared across at the wigged and robed barrister with an open, guileless gaze, eager to be of assistance. Wufei, hands on the lapels of his robe, took a deep breath and began his cross examination.

"Mr Knight, your flat is beneath that of the defendant and his former lover, is that correct?"

"Yes sir, mine is directly below theirs, sir."

"Now, on the night in question, you say you heard the sound of a violent quarrel coming from Mr Maxwell's flat?"

"Yes sir."

"How did you know?"

"I beg pardon sir?" The witness's helpful smile faltered and he frowned a little.

"How did you know that the quarrel you heard was coming from the flat above?"

"I… I could hear them sir." Joe Knight stammered. The barrister still smiled benignly at him, but the old man's brows drew together as for the first time he caught an inkling that he was not going to be afforded the smooth ride he had hitherto been granted.

"Yes, I acknowledge that you heard sounds of a quarrel, but I would like you to tell the court how you knew that the quarrel was coming from the flat above. You see Mr Knight, I have been to the flat above yours, and to one or two of the others in your block, and conducted some, shall we say 'experiments', and is it not true that, while it is quite possible to hear a quarrel coming from one of the neighbouring flats as you claim, it is not easy to discern exactly which flat the sounds are coming from? The sound carries through the walls and floor in such a way that they could just as easily be coming from above as below, or indeed from one of the apartments on either side, depending on which room you happened to be in, is that not so?"

"Yes sir, but…"

"Thank-you, Mr Knight. So, back to my original question – how did you know that the sounds were coming from the flat above?"

"I… I just assumed, sir."

"You. Just. Assumed." Wufei repeated slowly, punctuating each word. "So in truth, you had no real reason to believe that the voices you heard were coming from the flat above did you, Mr Knight? After all, you have already told the court that you were not able to recognise either the voices or what was said, and you also said that the couple were not particularly querulous. In fact, you said that you had only heard them quarrel once before, and that was on the day Zechs Merquise left the flat for good. Only once in the two years that they lived there. That hardly seems a sound basis for your assumption, does it?" Joe Knight gapped wordlessly, but before he could rally, Wufei ploughed on. "Now let's talk about the gunshots you claim to have heard. You say you heard them while watching television, is that not so?"

"Yes sir." The old man was wary now, and his answers were somewhat hesitant.

"Can you speak up please Mr Knight, I don't think the jury heard you."

"I said yes sir." Joe Knight raised his voice, but an unmistakable note of hostility had tinged his reply.

"Tell me Mr Knight, how is your hearing?" Joe Knight hesitated before replying, as though considering his words. Then he spoke.

"It's alright sir, but when you get to my age…"

"Is it not true that you have a significant loss of hearing in both ears, and in fact…" Here Wufei dropped his voice to a lower volume, suiting the action to his following words, "If I was to drop my voice to this level, you would have difficulty hearing me?" Joe Knight craned his neck forward.

"Beg pardon sir…" He said automatically, then quickly straightened as he realised what his actions had just confirmed. Wufei Chang looked significantly at the jury.

"You all heard me did you not, ladies and gentlemen of the jury…?" There was a general murmur of ascent from the jury box, with several heads nodding in confirmation. Wufei swung round and rounded on the old man in the witness box, his voice stern and accusatory. "... and yet you claim to have heard the report of a gun fired on the floor below while watching television, a television which no doubt had the sound turned up to an exceptionally high volume, due to your failing hearing." At this point Nigel Lynchwood rose abruptly to his feet.

"I object, My Lord," He said, addressing his remarks to the bench, "My learned friend is badgering this witness. Mr Knight is not the one on trial here." Mr Justice Everslade made a contemplative moue.

"Perhaps he is a little," He agreed, "But nevertheless, I think Mr Chang should be allowed to continue with his line of questioning. Mr Chang," The judge turned to that gentleman, "You may continue with your questions, but please moderate your tone."

"If your lordship pleases… " Wufei bowed respectfully in the direction of the bench, while at the same time affording his opponent a triumphant glance. "Now Mr Knight," He looked back to the man in the witness box, the benevolent smile back on his face, "You say you were watching a film on the television when you heard the shots."

"Yes sir." Joe Knight was still a little cautious, aware of his previous blunders and on his guard against further such slips.

"A good film, was it?"

"Oh yes sir, it was. John Wayne – I like him sir." Knight relaxed slightly.

"Yes, I'm rather partial to Mr Wayne myself." Wufei said pleasantly. "It was a John Wayne western, was it not?" Joe Knight nodded enthusiastically. "Please answer so that the jury can hear, Mr Knight."

"Sorry sir. Yes, it was a western."

"And you say you er, 'heard' the shots at around nine thirty, that is, half an hour into the film, which began at exactly nine o'clock, is that so?

"Yes sir."

"I too have watched this film Mr Knight, and I was interested to notice that at around thirty minutes into the film, give or take a few minutes, there is a… what do they call it… a 'shoot-out' scene, where the protagonists fire their weapons repeatedly at each other. Usher, could we play the scene to the jury?"

The court usher walked across to where a large, plasma television screen was erected against a wall. A DVD player stood on a small table beneath the screen. He took up a remote control device, depressed a button, and the screen flared into life as the opening credits of the film Joe Knight had been watching rolled by.

"Members of the jury," Wufei Chang said as the twelve men and women watched the screen with interest, "You will notice the time code in the top left-hand corner of the screen. This shows you the time elapsed since the start of the film. Usher, please advance the film until the counter shows thirty minutes. As interested as I'm sure the jury are in the work of Mr Wayne, I doubt whether His Lordship would appreciate his courtroom being turned into a picturehouse."

A restrained titter of amusement ran around the room as the usher did as he was bid. Sure enough, when the counter read 31 minutes and 22 seconds, a shoot-out between two warring cowboy factions erupted, and the room resounded with the sound of gunfire. When the gun-battle was over the screen counter read 35 minutes 10 seconds.

"Thank-you." Wufei nodded briefly at the court usher, who halted the playback on the screen with the press of another button. "So, members of the jury," The barrister turned to the jury box, "I leave it to you to decide whether a man who admits that he is hard of hearing could, in amongst what you have just seen and heard," Here he gestured eloquently in the direction of the now inert plasma screen, "Pick out two shots fired in the same building, and know exactly where those shots were fired, bearing in mind the fact that sound travels through the building in such a way that it is difficult to say where any particular sound has come from." The jury looked doubtfully from the man in the witness box to the plasma screen, then back again. "In fact," Chang turned to face the bench, seeking to reinforce the grain doubt he had sown in the minds of the jury, "My Lord, I request an adjournment so that the jury can be taken to Mr Knights flat to experience the phenomenon for themselves."

"My Lord…" Nigel Lynchwood was on his feet in an instant, but the judge silenced him with a glare.

"Alright Mr Chang." The judge decreed, "I am inclined to give you your head, since the points you have raised are certainly interesting. The defendant is on trial for his life, and it is incumbent upon me to afford the defence every opportunity to put forward its case. We will meet back here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. This court is adjourned."

"All rise!" Cried the usher as the judge left the court.

As the court officials, jury and public filed out of the various exits, Heero Yuy left his seat and descended to where Wufei Chang stood, briskly collecting his various papers and thrusting them into his neat leather folio case.

"Well done Chang, that was masterfully done." He said, giving the lawyer an appreciative slap on the back. The two men fell into step together as they left the room.

"Well," The other man replied, "You wanted some extra time, and an adjournment is as good a way as any of giving it to you, although you've only got a matter of hours. You'd better use it well because I doubt whether I will be able to get another. The judge is on my side for now, but that may change at any time."

"Don't worry," Heero said levelly, "Trowa and Quatre are on the case. They will get him here."

The court reconvened the next day at the time set by the judge, with Joe Knight once again in the witness box. The old man looked nervous and pale and Wufei Chang felt a pang of regret as he thought of what he would soon have to do. His client's life depended upon his actions this day, however, so he hardened his heart and steeled himself. It was highly irregular for a 'whitewig' barrister as he was, to be representing a defendant in a capital case as lead counsel, rather than as a junior. Ordinarily, lead counsel would have been an experienced 'silk', a Q.C., as was his opponent Nigel Lynchwood and Wufei would have been his junior, taking notes and asking questions only under the direction of his learned leader. Wufei was briefed as leading counsel only due to his association with Heero Yuy, and that gentleman's considerable influence with Duo Maxwell's solicitor, and he was determined to prove that his friend's trust had not been misplaced. Feeling the immense pressure of his situation, he took a deep breath and re-opened his cross-examination.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," He said, smiling up at the jury box, "Yesterday you saw for yourselves how extremely difficult it would have been for Mr Knight to have heard the fatal shots, far less for him to have discerned where they had come from. However, this is what he would have you believe he did, and it is for you to decide whether his evidence is the truth or not. Now, Mr Knight," He turned to the old man, "You say you ran upstairs after you heard the shots. Why?"

"I wanted to see whether anyone was hurt sir."

"Tell the court exactly what you did, from the time you heard the shots."

"Well sir, I heard the shots, and they sounded just like gunshots to me, so I got up from my armchair – I like to sit in an armchair to watch the telly 'cos the sofa's too soft on my…, well…" Mr Knight grew delicately pink as the court chuckled indulgently at the old man's revelation. "I got up from my armchair," He continued when silence had fallen once again, "Ran out the front door and up the stairs to the next floor."

"When you say ran…"

"Well I didn't exactly run sir, not at my age, but I walked quickly. I hurried, you understand sir?"

"Yes Mr Knight, I think we understand. Now, I would like you to help me with a little exercise. When I say the word 'Go', I want you to replay the scene in your mind, from the moment you heard the shots to the time you emerged from the stairwell into the corridor above. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course, sir. Do you want me to tell you what I'm doin' as I go?"

"There is no need for commentary unless you want to give it, but I need you to clearly indicate when you have reached the landing and are in sight of the murder scene by clearly saying the word 'Now'. Do you understand what you have to do?"

Joe Knight confirmed that he did, and the lawyer drew a stopwatch from within his robes and began the exercise. Joe Knight preferred not to comment on his progress, but sat with eyes tightly clenched as he replayed the scene in his mind's-eye. Eventually he rent the deathly silence in the room with a resounding 'NOW'

"Thank-you for that, Mr Knight." Wufei turned to the jury box. "Twenty two seconds, members of the jury."

He summoned the usher with a gesture, handed the watch to him, bent to give a whispered instruction, then straightened. The usher took the watch, carried it over to the jury box and handed it to the nearest juror. The twelve jury members passed the watch between them, satisfying themselves as to the time displayed, before handing it back. As the watch circulated, Wufei continued his cross-examination.

"That is a most impressive time, Mr Knight. I have to say that I performed the same exercise at the _locus in quo_, that is, at the scene of the event, and I couldn't get it to take less than twelve seconds, and I am possibly a little nimbler than you are on the stairs. However, Duo Maxwell's front door is only a few feet away from where the body was found. He states that he heard the shots only three or four seconds after he had closed the door on Zechs Merquise. He then threw open the door, ran out into the corridor, approached the body, knelt beside it for only a fraction of a second, saw the gun and ran back into his flat to call the police. Even allowing for the slowest reactions and movements on the part of the defendant, it is difficult for me to get this sequence of events to take more than seven seconds, from the throwing open of the door to the stepping back into the flat, at which time he would have been out of sight of anyone entering the corridor from the stairwell. The defendant states that after calling the police he never left his apartment, never stepped back out into the corridor, for fear of contaminating the scene. His work as a detective fiction writer taught him at least that much. Therefore, Mr Knight, I wonder whether you can account for the apparent discrepancy between the timings that we seem to have here, because for the life of me I cannot see how you can have seen the defendant running away, if it took you twenty two seconds and me twelve seconds from hearing the shots to arrival at the murder scene. It simply is not possible, if it only took him seven seconds. Surely you would have arrived on the scene well after Mr Maxwell had returned to his apartment. Can you offer any explanation for this apparent anomaly?" Joe Knight's mumbled response was lost as he uttered it. The judge was leaning forward, listening to the exchange with deep interest.

"Please speak up, Mr Knight." He snapped impatiently.

"No, sir, I can't." The old man repeated glumly. Wufei ploughed on relentlessly.

"There is a door between the stairwell and the corridor where the murder occurred, is there not?" He asked.

"Yes there is sir." The witness replied loudly.

"When you reached this door, please tell the jury what you did." Knight frowned in confusion.

"I opened it and went through it, sir."

"How did you go through it Mr Knight?" The lawyer asked, "Did you burst through in a rush, or did you stop and come through slowly?"

"I burst through in a rush sir. As I said, I thought someone might be hurt."

"Quite so. But did it not occur to you that the gunman might still be around? Indeed, you might well have been in great peril of your own life. I myself am well trained in defensive combat techniques but I would still hesitate to enter a scene where I had good reason to believe a gunman might be lurking. You yourself have mentioned your advancing years several times today, but in spite of this, you rushed headlong into a corridor where you had just recently heard gunfire? Joe Knight hesitated, then stuck his chin out defiantly.

"Yes sir that is exactly what I did." Wufei Chang turned to the jury box.

"Members of the jury, I would be inclined to say that anyone who made such a statement was one of three things – either incredibly brave, unbelievably stupid, or a barefaced liar. It is up to you to decide which of these applies to Mr Knight." He turned back to the witness with a glance towards the bench. It was time for the morning recess, but the judge seemed so engrossed in the proceedings that recess seemed the last thing on his mind, so Wufei continued his questioning. "When you emerged onto the landing and saw Mr Maxwell running back into his flat, what did you then do?"

"I went back down to my flat to call the police sir."

"You turned immediately and went back down the stairs?"

"Yes sir."

"You didn't perhaps enter the corridor and approach the body?"

"No sir."

"Were you not curious to see who it was or what had happened?"

"I could see who it was sir, 'cos of his hair and the colour of his coat. I'd seen him wear that coat before sir, and the gentleman had very light-coloured hair – long and light-coloured, like the person lying in the corridor. I knew exactly who it was sir, I didn't need to see no closer. I'd 'eard the shots too so I knew what 'ad 'appened right enough."

"Do you know first aid, Mr Knight?"

"Yes sir." Knight's reply was hesitant and his gaze shifted uncomfortably.

"In fact, were you not a volunteer member of the St John's Ambulance Brigade for many years, even progressing to the level of instructor?" Knight mumbled his reply yet again, but after a swift glance up at the bench, he repeated the response at a higher volume without further prompting.

"Yes sir,"

"In that case Mr Knight, I find myself confused. You state that you placed your own life in considerable peril by bursting in on a scene where you had good reason to believe that a shooting had just taken place and where a gunman might still be lurking, just in case there might be a casualty who needed help, but when you did find just such a casualty, you turned and fled the scene without even checking to see whether the victim was still alive and not yet beyond aid. And you a fully qualified advanced first aider." Knight failed to make any statement, and the lawyer turned to the jury. "Members of the jury, I beg you to consider well this strangely illogical behaviour of Mr Knight." At this point the judge finally called the morning recess and the court rose.

When the court re-convened thirty minutes later, Wufei changed his line of questioning.

"Are you married, Mr Knight?" The prosecuting barrister shot to his feet.

"Objection, My Lord. The witness's marital status has no bearing on this case." The judge sighed heavily.

"_Prima facie_, you would appear to be correct Mr Lychwood. Mr Chang…?" He turned to the Chinese lawyer.

"My Lord," Wufei rejoined with some asperity, "If My Learned Friend would sit down and allow me to continue, he will soon see exactly what bearing this line of questioning has on the case."

"Very well," The judge said resignedly, "I'm going to allow you to continue but if this appears to go nowhere, I shall call a halt. I have indulged you thus far Mr Chang, but don't push me too far." He turned to the witness. "Mr Knight, please answer the question." Nigel Lynchwood sank back into his seat, his face as grey as a storm cloud.

"No, sir, I've never married." Joe Knight said, responding to the earlier question.

"Do you have any children?" Wufei asked. Lynchwood shot up again.

"My Lord…" But the judge quelled him with an icy glare.

"Mr Lynchwood," He said sepulchrally, "I believe I have already given a ruling on this point, now kindly sit down!" The chagrined lawyer gave a curt bow in the direction of the bench and resumed his seat with poorly-concealed ill-grace.

"Mr Knight...?" Wufei prompted.

"I told you, I've never married." Joe Knight's cheeks flushed, and he squirmed uncomfortably.

"Come now Mr Knight, we are all men and women of the world here." The Chinese lawyer gestured expansively. "We all know that the one does not necessarily mean the other. Do you have any children?" The old man's eyes strayed towards the public gallery, then he squared his shoulders.

"Yes sir, I have one son." He declared proudly. "'e grew up with his mother and 'er people, but 'e's my son right enough, and I'm that proud of 'im."

"And what is your son's name?"

"'is name is James Shadwell." There was an audible gasp of surprise from the dock, and all eyes turned towards the defendant. Duo Maxwell stared back, a look of utter disbelief on his handsome features.

"Ah, I see that at least my client has realised the significance of Mr Knight's startling revelation." Wufei Chang said with considerable relish. "Now please tell the court what your son does for a living." Joe Knight shot an apologetic look towards the public gallery, then answered.

"'e's Steward and Private Secretary to a landed gentleman sir."

"And the name of that gentleman?"

"'is Excellency Treize Khushrenada." An excited murmur hummed through the room as people began to realise that some thing significant was being revealed, although most were as yet unaware exactly what that something was.

"Are you aware that the block of flats that you and the defendant live in is part of the Khushrenada estate? That makes Treize Khushrenada your landlord."

"Yes, I know that sir."

"And did you know that Treize Khushrenada and Zechs Merquise were friends – very special friends? In fact, they were lovers – did you know that Mr Knight?"

"Yes sir, I knew that." Wufei's momentum faltered. He was about to do something that his pupil master, the man who taught him everything he knew, would happily crucify him for even contemplating. He was about to ask a question to which he did not already know the answer. He closed his eyes, whispered a brief prayer, opened his eyes and spoke.

"Zechs Merquise was a known adventurer and was rather free with his favours. Did you know that he had had a brief affair with your son?" Joe Knight's eyes slipped closed, then opened again before he replied with quiet dignity.

"Yes sir, I knew that." Wufei silently thanked the gods. He drew himself up, and uttered his next statement in a stern, stentorian voice.

"Mr Knight, I put it to you that the evidence you have given to this court has been nothing but a tissue of lies. You fed the court a story that was frankly ridiculous in its incredulity, about having heard the shots while watching television, then come upon the scene and seen Duo Maxwell running away." Wufei's voice increased in both pitch and intensity.

"I put it to you that it was you who, having obtained a copy of the new key for Duo Maxwell's flat from your son, who of course had free access to it, entered Mr Maxwell's flat and removed the gun. The couple made no secret of its purchase, and your son was sure to have known of it. He could have passed the information on to you at any time, and also told you where to find it. You then waited for Mr Merquise in the hall – your son could have told you about the appointment – the deceased certainly discussed it with Treize Khushrenada, his closest friend. When Zechs Merquise left the flat, you cold-bloodedly shot him dead, in revenge for having used and then discarded your son. You then hid in stairwell vestibule and watched through the glazing of the door as Duo Maxwell came out of his flat, saw his lover dead, then ran back inside to raise the alarm." The lawyer swung dramatically round to face the jury.

"That, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is when he saw Duo Maxwell running away, not as he came up the stairs to investigate, as he would have you all believe." He turned back to the witness, who was gaping wordlessly, and shaking his head in vehement denial. He was breathing deeply and seemed to be having trouble articulating.

"I can scarcely find the words to tell you how contemptible I find you, Mr Knight." Wufei said, with cold asperity. "Not only have you killed a man in cold blood, you deliberately perjured yourself in order to pin the guilt for your cowardly crime on to an innocent man."

"…no, n…no…" Joe Knight finally managed to stammer, but his attention was not on the lawyer, but instead his gaze was fixed upon the public gallery, where a young man had risen to his feet. "No Jim!" The old man cried, a hand extended imploringly towards the jury box. The whole court was transfixed by the drama that was unfolding, not even the judge was moved to call the proceedings to order.

"Leave him alone," The young man cried, "Stop haranguing him. He didn't do anything. It was me – I shot Zechs Merquise." In the midst of the furore that this statement caused, Wufei Chang turned to the judge's bench.

"My lord, I move that this case be dismissed."


	7. Chapter 7

GALLOWS EVE (Part 7)

by DRL

Heero and Trowa were not only permitted entry to the room where James Shadwell was being interviewed, but highly irregular as it was, they were allowed to participate in his interrogation. Having been instrumental in bringing the crime home to the real perpetrator, Trowa was glad to also be 'in at the kill' (although given James Shadwell's likely sentence if convicted, he was sensible of the irony of this particular phrase). Trowa knew that Heero's sphere of influence was wide indeed, but he was surprised that his friend had been able to arrange this - even to the extent of actually conducting the interview himself. He took up a position in a darkened corner of the interview room, hoping to make himself inconspicuous, although for a man of his stature and bearing, this was no mean undertaking. Heero was seated at the only table in the cell-like room, and James Shadwell sat directly opposite.

The young man looked exactly as he had when he had given Trowa the keys to Duo Maxwell's flat, some three weeks ago now, dapper, ruggedly handsome and a trifle aloof. He had recovered his composure following his impassioned outburst in the court, but if he now repented of his action, he gave no sign. He had immediately been arrested and charged, and having spent some hours in a cell, was now being questioned. He had insisted upon making a statement immediately and the officer in charge of the case was inclined to let him. He had waived his right to a lawyer, even though Treize Khushrenada had sent his own legal representative to protect the interests of his employee, but Shadwell refused to see him.

"I just want to make a statement and get it over with," The young man urged, "I don't need a lawyer, they only complicate things."

The police secretly agreed with him, but they wanted to do everything by the book lest some small oversight allow their man to escape justice on a technicality. Eventually though, they let him have his way and now he sat across the table from Heero, his hands clasped nervously on the table before him, a plastic beaker full of weak tea within reach - untasted and now quite cold. Heero smiled at the young man. He had inveigled his way into the position of interviewer by insisting that Shadwell might well respond better and talk more freely to someone who was not a member of the establishment. He didn't believe it for one second, but he felt he deserved the concession, so he flexed all the muscle he had until he got his way, with the proviso that if the prisoner showed the slightest reluctance to speak to Heero, he would be replaced by the Chief Inspector.

"My name is Heero Yuy," Heero began, "I'm not with the police, but I wondered whether you would mind speaking to me about what happened." He asked. Shadwell's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You're not with the police?" Heero shook his head. "Then who are you?" James Shadwell asked brusquely. Patiently Heero explained that he was not with the police, but that he had independently helped them with their enquiries on the case. When he had finished James Shadwell shrugged. "Okay, I'll talk to you. Is that tape recorder rolling?" This he asked of the Chief Inspector, who stood beside the instrument. The officer responded in the affirmative and the young man turned his attention back to Heero. He leaned across the Formica-topped table towards the Japanese man, his eyes wide and earnest.

"First tell me, have they let that poor Duo Maxwell go?" He asked fervently. Heero nodded slowly.

"Yes. Duo Maxwell walked free from the court earlier today, following your arrest." Shadwell sat back with a heavy sigh.

"Good," He nodded, visibly relieved. "Good. Well, I did it, Mr Yuy. I shot Zechs Merquise," He began with controlled vehemence, displaying the first passion he had shown since that of his outburst in court, "And I'm not in the least bit sorry about it. In fact, if he were in this room now, I'd kill him all over again in a heartbeat."

The Chief Inspector stirred restlessly, as the policeman in him urged him to react to such an admission, but Heero shot him a warning glare, and he reluctantly held his peace.

"Zechs Merquise was a brat, a bully and a slut," Shadwell continued, "But sometimes, in unguarded moments, he could also be the nicest person I have ever met. You have to understand people like Zechs and Treize, and the rest of their set. These people are rich - they have had a life of wealth, luxury and privilege. Throughout their lives they have received everything they have ever wanted. They are not accustomed to the word 'no', and they don't take too kindly to hearing it. Treize is not too bad, all things considered. He is a kind and generous employer, but he can be as bad as the worst of them when he wants to be."

The young man smiled wanly and Heero smiled back sympathetically, as if he understood only too well although in truth, he was one of the breed Shadwell had just been speaking of in rather less than complimentary terms.

"I first encountered Zechs when I came to work for Treize. He was at the Khushrenada mansion when I arrived on my first day. Treize - He asked me to call him Treize from the word go, so you can see how down-to-earth he was..." Heero had already received a full and detailed account of exactly how 'down-to-earth' Treize Khushrenada was from Trowa, but he nodded and smiled encouragingly. "…Treize showed me to his study and when we got there, Zechs was already there, seated behind the desk - Treize's desk. He was sprawled carelessly on a chair, one heel resting on the edge of the table, no matter that he was rumpling the papers beneath. He looked at me, his eyes following the trajectory of my gaze to where his foot rested on the table. He must have sensed my disapproval, because he fixed me with a hard, challenging stare, as if defying me to make something of it. I looked back at him, holding his gaze, and I thought, 'that young man is trouble'.

"Treize introduced him to me as _'Zechs Merquise, an old friend'_. The name was familiar to me from his books, of course, not to mention the reports of his exploits in the newspapers. His books were not exactly best sellers, but they were reasonably popular. I have never read one myself so I cannot vouch for them, although I hear that his popularity has soared following his sensational death.

"Having performed the introductions, Treize then balanced himself on the arm of Zechs' chair and placed an arm around his friend's shoulders. Zechs shifted in his chair and leaned heavily against Treize. He laid a hand on Treize's knee and began to caress it lovingly. Treize proceeded to instruct me in my new duties as if nothing untoward was occurring and indeed, it soon became abundantly clear to me that nothing untoward was. Although I had first wondered whether this little display was for my benefit only, I soon came to realise that this was the norm for the two of them. They never could seem to keep their hands off each other."

"Although Treize introduced Zechs as an old friend, they were much more than that to each other. They were friends _**and**_ lovers, but their relationship was far from exclusive - at least on Zechs' side. He was what is euphemistically called an adventurer and he tended to spread his favours very thinly. He even scattered a few crumbs in my direction and I, fool that I was, I gathered them in gratefully. You see, although I knew Zechs Merquise for the spoilt, unprincipled, hedonistic young lordling that he was, I was not immune to his undeniable power of attraction. There was something about him - an air of... of danger, as if one always expected something dramatic to happen whenever he was around. He was beautiful, graceful, intelligent and witty, and when he was ready he could charm the birds out of the trees, but the minute things didn't go his way, he could turn into a devil at the drop of a hat.

"He ran round with that Bloomsbury set, you know, that Bohemian group of writers, artists and 'thinkers'. They all considered themselves free spirits, unfettered by the petty rules of propriety and convention, and not a one of them with an allowance of less than a hundred thousand a year. It's easy to flout the rules of society when you have an independent income and expectations of inheriting the family fortune. Those of us with a living to earn have to be a bit more circumspect; we have to toe the line or risk losing our jobs by gaining a reputation as a troublemaker.

"I didn't get a reputation as a troublemaker, but I did put my job at risk by getting involved with Zechs. While I admit that I was attracted to both Zechs and Treize, my dealings with Treize were always strictly professional and above reproach. He never made any advances towards me and I never got the impression that he ever thought of me as anything other than an efficient employee. Zechs, on the other hand, tried to seduce me the first chance he got. I resisted his advances at first because I knew how Treize would react if he ever found out. However innocent or unwilling my part in the affair, I would be the one blamed, not Zechs. But my resolve didn't last long. Zechs was used to getting what he wanted and if he wanted me, try as I might to resist, it was only a matter of time before he had his way.

"Truth to tell, I wasn't exactly unwilling. As I said, Zechs was beautiful and alluring, and I was very much attracted to him. I was also wary of him though, and I was right to be. The fact of our affair, plus our relative social positions put me in his power, and he wasted no time in exploiting his ascendancy. I soon repented of my weakness in submitting to Zechs, not only because I feared for my job but also because I liked Treize and I hated deceiving him. As I said, his relationship with Zechs may not have been exclusive, but I don't think Treize would have appreciated sharing his lover with the help overmuch. He trusted us both, and neither of us deserved his faith. That didn't sit well with me at all.

"Of course, Zechs couldn't see a problem at all.

'_But why does it matter?'_ He would say irritably, _'Granted, Treize would get a little hot under the collar if he found out, but what of it? Just relax; I know how to handle him.'_

"When I tried to tell him that it was not only Treize's feelings I was worried about but also my job, once again he dismissed my fears out of hand as he did with everything that didn't concern him directly.

_'Your job? You're worried about your job? Oh, for heavens sake man! If he fires you, just get another job. Why make such a fuss about it?'_

"I just couldn't get him to see the thing from my point of view, but as a man who has never done a hand's turn in his life, I suppose his attitude was understandable. However, I insisted that I could no longer continue our affair and that was when I discovered just how dangerous Zechs Merquise could be.

_'Okay, run away scared if you want to,' _He told me,_ 'But think on this - __**I**__ have absolutely nothing to lose if Treize does find out. In fact, it might be rather amusing. Unless, of course, you don't feel quite so conscious-stricken after all?'_

I was confused for a moment or two, then his meaning became clear - abundantly so. He was threatening me, threatening to tell Treize himself if I ended things between us.

"I was alarmed and annoyed, but not greatly surprised. I had always known what Zechs was, what wickedness and cruelty he was capable of. I had never actually seen nor indeed experienced it myself, but I knew it was there. The fact that he could treat his best friend and lover so - betraying him with his own servant - shows the kind of man he was. Once I saw which way the wind was blowing I drew myself up. If Zechs thought he was going to blackmail me into continuing our affair, he had quite another thing coming. I demanded that he speak plainly. Was he or was he not threatening to confess all to Treize.

_'You know that I could,' _He replied,_ 'You know that all I have to do is open my mouth and you would be out of your precious job like that._' And he snapped his fingers before my face._ 'In fact,' _He added with a spiteful gleam in his eye,_ 'I ought to make you beg me to keep my mouth shut. On your bended knees too. That'd be a laugh, eh?'_

"I should have killed him then." James Shadwell murmured. "If I had, it would have saved a lot of trouble.

"We were in bed in my house. I live in a small, self-contained guest-house in the grounds of the main house. The house comes with the job. It's quite private and has it's own entrance, so I can come and go as I please with no-one to mark my movements. That is how Zechs and I managed to conduct our affair. He would come to me whenever he felt like it, late at night usually, when all at the main house had gone to bed. I was ever mindful that someone might see, that we might be discovered, but he was absolutely fearless. We had just made love and were lying together, enjoying quite a tender moment really, when the conversation turned to my uneasiness about our affair, as it so often did. As soon as he said that about telling Treize, something snapped inside of me, and any feeling I had for him drained immediately away. In a flash I saw how foolish I had been in having so completely placed myself in the power of a man who was totally amoral and completely without scruple.

"I threw him out of my house. I practically picked him up and physically threw him out. I was so angry, and outraged, that I didn't even stop to think about what I was doing. I was naked, and so was he. I didn't even give him the opportunity to get dressed. I dragged him bodily down the stairs and pitched him out onto the lawn. I then went back up to the bedroom and I tossed his clothes out of the window to him. I was so angry that I seemed to have the strength of ten men, and Zechs was so taken aback by my vehemence that he offered me no real resistance, despite the fact that he was a match for me in terms of weight and build. It was then that I noticed something. Zechs' real strength lay in his ability to intimidate by means of his acerbic tongue and his privileged position. In the face of sheer brute strength and physical power, he was as corn before my sickle.

"He scrabbled around on the ground for his clothes, glaring up at me as he did so, as I looked down on him from an upper storey window. I had humiliated him and he was furious. I had never seen him so angry. If he hadn't intended to tell Treize about us before, he would certainly do so now. I realised that my actions had probably cost me my job, my home, everything - but not my dignity. Beg _**him**_? I would rather die.

"I watched as he awkwardly pulled on his trousers and thrust his bare feet into his shoes. The rest of his clothes he carried bundled up in his arms. He stood on the lawn looking up at me, and then he smiled, the coldest, most mirthless smile I have ever seen. Then he turned on his heel and stalked off into the darkness. That smile spoke volumes and I knew for certain I was undone. For some reason that cold smile and silent departure put more fear into me than if he had vented his anger verbally which, I have to say, is what I had expected.

"As it turned out, I wasn't undone after all. Three or four tense days of waiting for the hammer-blow to fall passed, but nothing happened. Everything proceeded as usual, the only difference being that Zechs ceased to visit the house. At first I was suspicious, thinking this silence was merely a ploy by Zechs to lull me into a false sense of security, prior to a strike when I least expected it. However, when time passed and no strike came, I eventually relaxed, forgot about it and got on with my life. Zechs stayed away and one day I made so bold as to ask Treize what had become of his erstwhile lover.

_'Oh, our Zechs is walking out with a new __companion.' _He said._ 'By all accounts he's' fallen madly in love'._ He spoke affably but I knew Treize quite well by this time, and I was able to discern the subtle hint of sorrow and regret in his voice.

Zechs' new love was Duo Maxwell. The next time I saw him was after the much-publicised contretemps with his father. He came to us looking for a cheap place for him and Maxwell to move into, since his father had stopped his allowance, and those mediocre books he wrote didn't bring in enough to keep him in the grand style he was accustomed to. From what I heard, it was Maxwell keeping them both, but that might just have been idle gossip. Anyway, they definitely came cap-in-hand looking for cheap accommodation, so things must have been somewhat tight.

"As his Private Secretary, I dealt with all of Treize's business affairs, so after the three of them had had lunch together, Treize turned them over to me, having privately briefed me to give them the best apartment available in the block he kept for renting out to family members, friends, etc. This gave me quite a jolt because I had already given away the best apartment – to my own father, Joe Knight.

"My mother and father never married. I was the result of a brief moment of passion when my father, a jobbing tradesman, and my mother, a bored and neglected housewife, found a brief respite from the drudgery of their respective lives in each other's arms. It was impossible for them to be together, but although she was forced to pass me off as the legitimate issue of her husband, for as long as I can remember I have been fully aware of my true parentage and I have always felt a deep affection for my father - my real father. My mother died when I was eighteen and my stepfather, prostrate with grief, followed her a year later. I was left with Joe as my only parent, and I was able to become a real son to him, at last.

"Some time after I began to work for Treize, Joe lost his home when his landlord sold his house and the land it was built on to property developers. He was compensated adequately – quite handsomely, in fact, but rents and mortgages were high and he a retired pensioner, and I didn't want him to be subject to crippling living costs. In what I suppose was an abuse of my position, since I omitted to tell Treize about it, I let Joe have the best of Treize's grace and favour apartments. He was paying the going rent, but as Treize kept these apartments for bestowing at his own discretion, the rents were very modest in comparison with the standard of the accommodation, and Joe did extremely well, for a relatively small monthly outlay. All he knew was that his son had secured a luxury flat for him at a very reasonable rent. Joe wasn't stupid though, and he had assumed that I was subsidising his rent from my own pocket. I didn't disabuse him.

"I didn't tell Joe about what I had done, nor did I tell Treize. There was no harm done, and ne'er would the twain ever meet, so everything was okay - until the day Treize asked me to give the very same apartment to Zechs and Duo. Treize left all his business dealings in my hands, but that didn't mean that he wasn't completely au-fait with his assets. He knew exactly what he had and how much it all brought in, but the day-to-day dealings were left to me. He definitely knew which the best apartment in the block was, and it was this one that he asked me to let to the couple. I say let, but he actually asked me to let them have it rent-free. I had to think on my feet, so I retrieved the keys from the second-best apartment, took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

"Zechs and Duo had both been present when Treize had mentioned the apartment, and they both noticed when I led them to a different flat. I mumbled some excuse; I hardly knew what I said, but amazingly they didn't question me any further. They were both perfectly happy with the apartment I showed them to and that was that – for a while, at least. Joe lived on the floor below Zechs and Duo, and unless they ran into each other in the lift, there was no real reason why they ought to meet each other, let alone speak to each other. The two flats were one directly below the other, and Joe's was considered the better of the two because the living room opened onto a balcony overlooking the formal gardens below.

"Then Zechs and Duo split up, and although Zechs had ostensibly moved in with his sister, Relena, he was at the house quite often, crying on Treize's shoulder. Treize had a cosy little study-cum-library where he and Zechs used to sit and talk whenever Zechs came round. My office was situated in the next room to this one, and there was a communicating door through which, if one held one's ear to the keyhole just so, one could clearly hear what was being said on the other side. Unbeknown to the both of them, I used to listen to their conversations in this way. In fact, I used to listen to all of Treize's 'private' conferences in this room. I may have been his man of business, but he by no means told me everything, although I deemed it in my best interests to know everything. This way, I learned quite a lot about the break-up, and Zech's delicate state of mind at the time. In spite of everything, I felt quite sorry for him because he really had been in love with Maxwell, even thought that hadn't been enough to prevent him from putting his foot in his mouth and blowing everything.

"I said that Zechs' state of mind at that time was delicate, as it seemed from his conversations with Treize, but that didn't mean that his old antipathy towards me had cooled any. Ever since the end of our own affair he had been cold and aloof towards me, and I had been the same towards him. He never did tell Treize about us, and I could only assume that he had withheld from doing so for some devious reasons of his own, so I didn't feel that I owed him any gratitude for that – no, not at all. I had always felt that he was just biding his time – and so it proved. One day I went down to the apartment to take a look at a stairwell door that some of the tenants had complained was not closing properly and kept banging and disturbing them. While I was there I took the opportunity to pay Joe a quick visit. I stayed with him for an hour or so, then took my leave. Joe saw me to the door, gave me a big hug in the open doorway as he always did, then I left and he closed the door. Imagine my surprise and utter consternation when, before I had taken two steps along the corridor towards the lift, I saw Zechs Merquise leaning insouciantly against the wall, a few feet away from Joe's door.

'_Well, well, well, what have we here?'_ He said, and the lascivious smirk on his face told me that he had put two and two together, and come up with five. _'I would have said that he was a little old for you James, or have you found yourself a sugar-daddy?'_

'Don't be disgusting,' I spat, 'That's my father!'

As soon as the worlds left my mouth, I realised that I had made a grave error. I had opened my mouth before engaging my brain, and that was my undoing. A momentary frown of confusion was immediately replaced by the glow of comprehension, and Zechs' expression became one that I knew of old - and feared, that of cold, pitiless superiority.

'_Your father, is it?'_ He said airily_. 'And in the best apartment, too.'_ He then gave me a smile that I had last seen as he stood on the lawn outside my house, clad only in trousers and shoes, with his clothes bundled up in his arms. _'You know, they say that payback's a bitch.'_ He said calmly. _'I wouldn't know whether that's true, but I guess you're about to find out.'_ With that, he turned and exited through the fire escape.

"I just stood there, frozen into immobility by shock as I listened to the ring of his shoes on the concrete steps as he descended the stairs, until the fire door closed on its hydraulic hinges, cutting the sound dead. Then my mind began to race and my body to move. I followed Zechs through the fire escape, but I went upstairs to the floor above. Treize was out of town, and would not be back until late, so at least I had some time. At all costs, I had to prevent Zechs from speaking to Treize, and although I probably knew right then exactly how I was going to achieve this, I didn't stop to dwell upon it, lest my nerve fail me. I just moved automatically.

"As I ascended I felt in my pockets for my skeleton keys. I always carried them when visiting any of Treize's properties for maintenance purposes. When I reached the floor above I walked to the apartment that Duo Maxwell now occupied alone. I knocked on the door, then ran quickly back and stood in the stairwell, out of sight. A full minute passed and no-one answered the door. To be sure, I went through the same procedure again, with the same result. Duo Maxwell was not at home. I had expected as much. Zechs had probably been up to the apartment and had discovered the same as I just had, though why he had been lurking in the corridor of the floor below was more of a mystery.

I had no leisure to ponder such questions. I felt in my overcoat pockets and pulled out a pair of soft leather gloves. Pulling them on, I let myself into the apartment. I had heard Zechs mention the place where the gun was kept a day or so ago when he was in Treize's study, wallowing in self-pity as usual.

_'I should __just charge round there, grab that gun from the desk drawer and put a bullet through my brain.'_

"I very much doubt whether he would ever have had the balls to do it, but thanks to this piece of melodrama, I knew exactly where to get hold of a gun, and I would be happy to oblige.

"I pulled open the drawer of the desk and there it was, complete with a box of ammunition, pushed to the back, as if the items were unimportant, in comparison to the profusion of drawing pins, rubber bands, paper clips and pencil sharpeners that filled the rest of the drawer space. I removed the gun, took a handful of bullets, closed the drawer and left the apartment. I dropped both gun and ammunition in to the pocket of my overcoat, then I went down to my car... and waited.

"I knew Duo Maxwell would be back by 9.00 that evening, because Zechs had arranged to see him at that time. Again, I had my trusty keyhole to thank for my information. I know that you only hear of people listening at keyholes in pulp detective fiction, but I can tell you, it really works! My plan was to lie in wait in the corridor until he came out again, always assuming that he did. The last thing I needed was a reconciliation between the two of them and for Zechs not to come out. It was him or me, and I had no qualms – no qualms at all.

"I felt like a tv detective on a stakeout, sitting in my car watching the flat. I had to stay there though. I couldn't go home, then come back later. I was afraid that I might come to my senses and reason myself out of this drastic course. This was also why I didn't go up to Joes and wait there. I wanted to. My god, I was desperate to, but I knew what would happen. He would notice my agitation, and with concern in his mild, caring eyes, he would beg me to tell him what was bothering me. I would eventually capitulate, not being able to stand his pain at the fact that I was in any way troubled. And then would begin his desperate attempt to talk me round. No, I couldn't risk going up to Joe's flat.

"As predicted, Maxwell came home at around 6.00pm, struggling with shopping bags from the local food market. Zechs arrived at 9.00pm exactly. I gave him five minutes to get up to the apartment, then I followed him up. I waited in the stairwell for around 10 minutes, until I heard the sound of raised voices. I then approached the door to the apartment, stood outside, and listened. From what I could hear the thing was going badly. This was excellent news from my point of view. Full of cold, desperate resolve, I removed the gun from my pocket, loaded every chamber, then replaced it. Zechs Merquise would receive no mercy from me.

"I had intended to step out of the stairwell and shoot him as he made his way back to the lift, but he took me unawares. While I was still standing outside the door it opened suddenly and Zechs emerged, slamming it shut behind him. I quickly stepped to one side and flattened myself against the wall, but I was lucky he was so preoccupied with his own thoughts, or else he would have seen me, I'm sure of it. I stepped away from the wall and called Zechs' name. He stopped and turned around… to find the muzzle of the gun pointed directly at his chest. I fired a shot, but inexplicably he remained standing, so I fired another. He fell to earth after the second shot.

"In reality the shots were probably fired in very quick succession but to me there seemed an age in between. I remember wondering why he was still standing after the first shot. I almost laughed with the ridiculousness of it. I had just shot him at virtually point blank range, and he just stood there looking at me. Actually no – he wasn't looking at me at all. He was looking at the gun. I called his name, he turned round… and looked at the gun in my hand, not at me. Do you know, I don't even think he saw who it was that shot him?"

At this point, the young man, whose face had been wet with silent tears for the last five minutes of his compelling narrative, broke down, his body convulsed with deep, wracking sobs of a remorse that he had convinced himself he would never feel. Heero Yuy, his heart inexplicably heavy, rose and indicated to the Chief inspector that the interview was over.

18


	8. Epilogue

GALLOWS EVE (Epilogue)

by DRL

"More coffee?" Heero asked, smiling across at his companion.

In lieu of a reply Heero received an answering smile that dazzled him with its brilliance and an empty porcelain cup thrust beneath his nose. He refilled the cup from a silver pot and pushing aside the sugar bowl, added a small quantity of cream. The smile he earned in return for his attentions was more dazzling than the first and Heero felt sure his head would float away like a balloon. However, he was not so light-headed that he failed to notice a slight shudder convulse its way through his companion's slight frame.

"Still cold?" Heero asked solicitously, as he rose, took up the poker and used it to stir new life into the dying embers of the fire.

"No, just thinking."

Heero looked across at the smooth, creamy skin stretched across cheeks now hollow with recent privation, made amber by the glow of the firelight. He watched as flecks of gold danced in the violet-hued eyes that looked not at him but deep into the flames. His eyes traced the contours of the delicate profile presented to their rapt gaze – finely curved brow, small, slightly tip-tilted nose, generous rosebud lips, proud, strong chin. Heero could guess at the thoughts that still sent shivers of horror along Duo Maxwell's spine. The braided young man had cheated the hangman, but his sentence was far from over.

"Do you think he would have let me hang?" Maxwell asked distractedly, seemingly forgetting that he had asked this same question more than once that evening.

Heero suppressed a sigh - not of exasperation but of sorrow. Sorrow at the fact that for the foreseeable future at least, Duo Maxwell would be a man haunted by the ghosts of his recent ordeal. His ploy of discouraging the young man from brooding upon his recent experiences by cunningly evading all discussion of the subject had come to naught. He had successfully steered the conversation clear of matters concerning the trial during a sumptuous dinner, prepared and served by his manservant, but now, as they lounged on richly embroidered floor cushions before Heero's living room fire, sipping after-dinner coffee and with their empty desert plates stacked neatly to one side, he reluctantly conceded that it might actually do the young man good to talk. He resolved to allow the conversation to roam where it would.

"No, I don't think he would." He replied. "In fact, before he would make any statement at all he was at pains to make sure that you were released." Duo Maxwell nodded but looked far from convinced. "He said that he had never set out to point the finger of guilt at any other person and had you actually been convicted, he would have come forward. I believe that he was telling the truth. The Chief Inspector agrees that it appears to have been mere ill luck and circumstance that had made the evidence stack up so strongly against you."

"Ill luck? Maxwell gave a bitter laugh.

"Yes, you see, Shadwell had intended to shoot Zechs Merquise from his original position in the stairwell." Heero continued, warming to his theme. "He only broke cover because he heard raised voices on the other side of the door." Duo Maxwell turned to Heero with a gaze as blank as it was weary. He raised an eyebrow, as if wondering where this was leading, and why it even mattered. Undeterred, Heero continued. "Because Zechs came out of the flat unexpectedly and took him by surprise, the fatal shots were fired from a position consistent with your having followed him out, called his name, then shot him as he turned around. But for that final piece of evidence, the case against you would have been much weaker. It was this single fact that placed the noose so firmly about your neck".

Duo's gaze wandered back to the flames, which now leaped valiantly in the grate, suffusing the room with warmth and his cheeks with colour. He gave another bark of bitter laughter

"So you mean I went through all that simply because James Shadwell couldn't mind his own business?" Heero forbore to reply, but the truth of the statement hung in the air between them. Then Duo Maxwell gave a tender smile. "You know who I feel most sorry for?"

"Who's that? Heero asked, impressed in his certainty that the person Duo felt least sorry for was himself.

"That poor, sweet old man, Joe Knight."

Heero, by now entirely unsurprised by anything this placid, good-natured, totally non-vindictive young man might say, merely smiled. It was just like him, he had learned, to express sympathy for the man who conspired with another to pin the guilt for their own crime upon an innocent man, despite the fact that the innocent man was Maxwell himself.

"He must be devastated right now." Duo Maxwell clicked his tongue and sighed wistfully. "He loved his son so much and he was so proud of him - you could hear it in his voice. And now..." His voice tailed off. "It's like some terrible Greek tragedy, isn't it?" He continued after a contemplative pause, "James Shadwell is driven to murder to save his father and his father perjures himself in court to save his son."

"And in the end their deeds destroyed them both and accomplished nothing." Heero finished.

"Accomplished nothing?" Duo Maxwell turned his face away from the blaze and looked directly at Heero, giving him the full benefit of this 100watt smile once again. His cheeks were rosy from the warmth of the fire and his eyes danced with a spark of mischief. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that that." He replied. "I met you because of them, and I wouldn't say that that was nothing."

Heero basked in the warmth of the other's smile as he considered how to take this statement - a smile that, though warm, was totally innocent and offered no clue.

Wufei Chang drove slowly up the long, winding driveway, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen, as if that might somehow make his way clearer. The drive was unlit and the driving rain made the going virtually impossible. Suddenly a large house loomed up out of the darkness and Wufei almost drove into what he realised, as he steered precariously around it, was a fountain set in the centre of the gravelled courtyard that fronted the house.

"Shit!" He cursed, "Why the hell can't these people use lights?"

He pulled up outside the front door, realising, as his car circumnavigated the fountain, that the area was indeed flooded with sudden light. Deciding to make a dash for it rather than struggling with an umbrella, Wufei opened his car door and made a bolt for the front door. It was opened even before he reached it. He stepped inside and stood dripping onto a wide, cavernous hallway, beautifully tiled in black & white marble.

"His Excellency is expecting you. This way please." An elderly man, obviously a butler from his dress and manner, let the way slowly up a staircase that swept magnificently upward, towards the upper stories of the house. Wufei followed the doddering old man up the stairs and into a book-lined study. As he followed he looked around him at the unashamed, unadulterated luxury and marvelled.

'How the other tenth live' He thought. Not quite half, because he doubted whether half the population were as wealthy as Treize Khushrenada obviously was.

Treize Khushrenada was seated in a deep, leather arm chair, surrounded by ancient, leather-bound tomes. The room was warm, cosy and inviting, after the rigours of the stormy weather without. He rose gracefully as Wufei approached, and took his hand in a firm handshake.

"Mr Chang, thank-you for coming." He said in a voice that oozed over Wufei like warm honey. "Please, sit down."

Wufei sat in a chair that placed him in a position facing his host and he looked appraisingly at the aristocrat. He looked much as he had when Wufei had first met him, shortly after the trial of Duo Maxwell had ended in such a spectacular manner. Then, anxious and concerned for his employee, he had appeared distracted and preoccupied. Now he was composed and attentive, the perfect host, although Wufei detected a slight aura of sadness and melancholy about his eyes and in the set of his jaw. A goblet of claret stood at his elbow, and he offered Wufei a glass, which he declined, stating that he had to drive home.

"Thank-you for agreeing to see me Your Excellency." Wufei said. Treize Khushrenada inclined his head graciously.

"You said that you wanted to return something that belongs to me?" He queried.

Wufei swallowed hard, hoping that his discomfiture would go unmarked. The excuse he had given for this visit was flimsy - a mere pretext. He hoped that the other man would not see through it, although to Wufei's mind a child could have seen through it. All he really wanted was to see again the tall, elegant man who had so struck him with his gracious manners, stately bearing and divine beauty.

'_He's like a god,_' Wufei had thought when he had been introduced to Treize Kushrenada in the confused aftermath of the trial, _'He is just like a god. As physically perfect a being as I have ever seen._' Wufei's breath had been quite taken away in a manner that he had never before experienced, and the red-haired man had never been far from his thoughts ever since.

For the next few days, uppermost in Wufei's mind (even more highly placed than the fact that the Zechs Merquise murder trial had most assuredly secured him a place in legal history), was finding a way to see him again. Finally, following a visit to Trowa, he hit upon the plan that now saw him with yes, the audience he craved, but also with sweating palms and a mouth as dry as sawdust.

"Yes," He said, and he slid a trembling hand into his jacket and withdrew a long, white envelope, which he handed to his host. "I think this belongs to you."

Treize Kushrenada made a small exclamation of surprise, and took the envelope. He lifted the flap, drew out the contents and looked down at the object in his hands. He raised an eyebrow and raised his eyes to meet Wufei's.

"I'm sorry, but I think you've had a wasted journey." Khushrenada said. "This doesn't belong to me." He looked down again. Between his thumb and forefinger he held a small, dog-eared photograph. He flipped it up to glance briefly at the underside, then looked back at Wufei. "What made you think it did?"

"Trowa Barton found it on the mantelpiece of your drawing room." Wufei said.

"Trowa B…, oh yes, the detective fellow." Treize Khushrenada drew his brows together quizzically. "He found this in my drawing room? Why, who is it?" Wufei looked steadily at the other man.

"It's James Shadwell's father, Joe Knight." He said. Treize Khushrenada's eyes widened. He peered closely at the photograph in his hand.

"Good lord, so it is." He said at length. "That is to say, I've never met the man. I only know him from his picture in the news, but I'm sure this is him. And you say that Barton found this on my mantelpiece? But that's impossible."

"I assure you, your Excellency, Trowa Barton found this photograph on the mantelpiece in your drawing room." Wufei steadfastly maintained. "It was tucked into the frame of another picture - a picture of a woman. It was this picture that set him upon the track of the person who killed your friend. Trowa told me that he noticed the picture while he was in your drawing room waiting for you. He recognised the person in the picture as Joe Knight immediately, because he was present in the public gallery throughout the trial. He said that as soon as he saw the photograph he realised that he had just found what in detective fiction parlance is called 'a clue'. A photograph of the prosecution's key witness in the home of the victim's best friend? This was too significant a find to pass up, so he palmed it." Wufei smiled apologetically and shrugged.

"Technically it _**was**_ theft and if your Excellency would like to bring a charge..." Treize Khushrenda, who was listening with avid interest, made an impatiently dismissive gesture and bade Wufei continue. "Then, your Excellency, you introduced him to James Shadwell. I think you can see for yourself what he saw."

Treize Khusrenada glanced down at the picture, then he looked up, not at Wufei but at a point somewhere beyond him, beyond, Wufei thought, the time and space that they were presently occupying.

"The eyes..." He murmured. Wufei nodded slowly. "They don't look alike - not really - but they have the same eyes." There was wonder in the aristocrat's voice, as if the phenomenon surprised him. His gaze lingered on the small portrait in his hand.

"Yes, your Excellency." Wufei said gently. "Trowa was of the same mind. If one accepted the relationship between them, then it became conceivable that Joe Knight's evidence might have been less than truthful. The reasons for that may have been his own guilt, or the fact that he was shielding someone else. It didn't take long to discover which."

"You're a very clever man, Mr Chang." The aristocrat said wryly. "I see that your accusation of Joe Knight was just a ruse to precipitate a reaction from his son."

"Not clever, Your Excellency, just a good judge of character. Whatever he may have said in court, Joe Knight was no more guilty of killing Zechs Merquise than... than I was. Trowa had it figured out from the start. As soon as he met James Shadwell he knew. But we had absolutely no proof. We had not a shred of hard evidence beyond that photograph, which in itself is not evidence of anything. We needed a confession, and I did what I had to do to get one."

"As I said, very clever." Treize Khushrenada passed a hand slowly across his face. "It was all so senseless." He said. "Zechs was vain, selfish and spoilt," He intoned, his voice hoarse with emotion, "But he was not all bad and I..."

He stopped short of finishing the sentence, but Wufei had a good idea of how it would have ended and for the first time he found himself envying Zechs Merquise. Suddenly he felt foolish, having inveigled his way into this man's home and intruded upon his obvious grief. He also felt quite disgusted with himself for harbouring thoughts that had no place in the presence of the recently bereaved. Zechs Merquise was, for Wufei, just another case, but for this man he was friend and lover. For all of the dead man's faults, Wufei had encountered at least three people who had loved him. Could Wufei himself claim half as much? He shifted to the edge of his seat. He needed to be gone from here.

"I… I should go." He said. "I only came to return your property." Treize Khushrenada shook his head.

"No, that photograph is not my property. It belongs to James. I think I know how it came to be found in my drawing room though. We had some restoration work done on the south wing of the house; James study was included. All of the contents of the affected rooms were removed and stowed in other rooms nearby. That stupid girl Brigitte must have put the photograph back in the wrong room. She doesn't have the sense god gave a goat, but she cleans and scrubs well enough so I keep her on, despite her shortcomings. That must have been how it happened, because I can think of no other way." He looked once again at the photograph in his hand, then slid it back into the envelope. "Here," He handed the package to the lawyer, "Take it. I couldn't bear to have that thing in the house. Think of it as a souvenir."

Wufei took the envelope hesitantly, then rose to his feet. Treize Khushrenada looked up at him, his head cocked to one side and his pale blue eyes burning into Wufei like ice.

"Mr Chang," He said, "You say that you are a good judge of character. What does your intuition tell you about me?" Wufei replied without hesitation

"It tells me that you are a very sad man," He said, then he added, "And a very lonely one." The older man smiled a gentle, melancholy smile and rose.

"I was about to dine," He said, "And I would be very glad if you would join me."

Wufei smiled his acceptance, and as he followed the other man out of the room, he slid the envelope containing the photograph back into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. It had done its work a second time. The first time it took a friend from Treize Khushrenada, but this time it had brought one to him.


End file.
